Hatch
by QuinKilo
Summary: Cubone, the Lonely Pokemon. It's not by their choice, its ancient tradition that a Cubone Hatchling lives the first years of their life in solitude, proving their worth to their Tribe. However, for two Hatchlings, events are in motion that will have both risking their skulls by breaking the Trial rules. For one, it's a Dewott with a warning. For the other, a murder.
1. A Dewott and the Cubone

Hatch

By QuinKilo

_Respected characters belong to their respected owners, respectfully._

one

A Dewott and the Cubone

It was raining.

Again.

The Cubone scowled and leaned against the boulders that made up the cave wall for a second, looking out and over the water-logged forest and plains at the base of her hill. Even the mountains in the distance had disappeared in the fog. Even the mountains… that meant her little hill had disappeared from them as well…

She snorted, "Great Sky. What have I done to impose your wrath this time?" The longer she spoke, the more mocking she became. "Is it because I'm blatantly disobeying my Marowak Elders? _Clearly_,the actions of one little Cubone warrant the entire sky to break out in tears."

She scoffed, shifting the Zigzagoon-furred satchel on her back and tightening the knot she made out of her Buizel-cloak's intertube before flicking up the hood. Shouldering her bone club, she walked out of the cave. "Rain, see if I care."

A blast of wind knocked her hood back, her free hand whipping up to the knot to catch the cloak before it blew away. Tightening it again, she growled.

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" She yelled up to the clouds, pointing her club to them. "Not today! I _don't care_! Leave! Me! alone!"

"That's an odd thing coming from a Cubone from around these parts," A Dewott commented from his seat on a boulder off to Cubone's left. "Rebuking the sky…. a rather blasphemous thing to do. If I understand your Tribe correctly."

Cubone let her arm fall and glared at the trespasser over her shoulder. He was meditating, feet together, eyes closed, hands and arms resting on a large rutsack of his own, made of a material that shed the rain like his blue fur.

She flicked up her hood again, "Are there any _other_ observations you wish to make about me and my Tribe? No? Okay. Good. What are you doing here. Actually, no. Skip that. Go away." With that, she started down the hill, taking care not to slip on the stony dirt.

"I'm here to meet with your Tribe's Elders later this week.

Cubone slipped slightly, spinning to drop to all fours on the hill. She climbed back up. "Then _why_ are you stalking my den and talking to me!?"

"Questions," Dewott said simply, finally opening his eyes and looking at her. "Questions best answered by you and not your leaders. If you do not wish to answer, that is fine. I understand. However, before I do talk to your Elders I would like to have a… perspective from the ground and not the clouds, if you will."

Cubone narrowed her eyes, "Liar. Why would you talk to a _Hatchling_? We barely know anything about the Tribe—we only lived within the Caverns for our first year before starting our _seven-year_ Hatchling Trials. If you really know about us, then you know that we're given all that after the Trials end."

Dewott tilted his head, "I thought the Trials lasted for ten." He shook his head before Cubone could say anything. "I am here to deliver a warning to your Elders. …your Tribe is quite isolated, hidden away in this Reservation. There are events happening in the rest of Arcia that they need to be aware of…. If you ever hear of it, then you will know that they took my word seriously."

Cubone glared and turned to leave again.

"A Tribe's true intentions are revealed in the raising on their children," Dewott called, stopping Cubone. "And while the Hatchling Trials are… a bit extreme," Cubone scoffed loudly. "They do take good care of you. You are paired with another Hatchling and receive weekly lessons from a Marowak…." He faded off as Cubone laughed.

"There's seven of us Hatchlings this cycle," She scoffed. "I'm the odd one out. I got the Charred Den. The Marowak's—"

A crack of thunder drowned her out.

Cubone scowled and looked up as the rain fell harder. Her hood fell back on her shoulders again, half from the movement, half from another gust of wind. The water splashed on and through the eyeholes of her skull, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Fine," She muttered to the sky. "You win." She sighed and turned back to Dewott as he climbed back on top of his boulder. "What exactly do you want?"

Dewott glanced at her before looking back up to the sky, setting his rutsack off to the side. "With this weather…?" he started, taking a few steps away from the rocky outcropping to look at the rapidly encroaching fog wall and what little there was to see before it. "…well… glad to know Clara's right for once," He shook his head.

"Clara?" Cubone asked, walking up next to him. She looked up at him from one eye with her head slightly tilted-he was twice as tall as she was.

"A Castform in New Elmgrove—it's the closest town outside the Reservation," He said, looking out over the landscape. "Her reputation of accurate weather prediction is _abysmal_. Look at the trees, the wind's picking up far faster than it should. Most of the fog seems to be heavy rain…." He looked at her, "If she's actually right for once, this storm will last for the rest of the week, perhaps longer. Long, violent, mass flooding. Gather what supplies you can and bunker down in your den. As for me…" he sighed softly, clearly not enthused about his situation. "I have to make progress when I can. Farewell."

Cubone watched Dewott as he hastily jogged back to his rutsack, donned it, and started to head back down the hill, giving Cubone one final nod.

Cubone looked back up at the sky as another bolt of lightning arched through it. She looked back at Dewott as he flinched from the sound, squatting low out of sheer reaction. Cubone groaned and rolled her head.

"Wait!" She called, skidding down the hill after him. "You won't make it. The Caverns are a more than a day's walk in the best of weather. In any other rainstorm, you'd be fine. …you _are_ favored by the Water-Spirits, yeah?"

Dewott was drowned out by another lightning strike, some distance behind Cubone's den. Again, he flinched towards the ground.

"Yeah, you won't make it over the plains—you'd get fried four times over. You might be able to make it to the old Bibarel Dam. It's a few hours' walk upstream. You'd be walking through the forest… I'm not sure if there's anything habitable left of it, but it's closer than the border."

Dewott looked down at her for a second, then back at the forest. "…I was warned of Shinx in the plains. This storm is going to be severe enough for them to seek shelter themselves and I'd rather not chance walking through a forest of Luxray." He sighed. "I was supposed to be escorted by a Marowak to the Elders. He was to act as a lightning rod and I to follow… but it seems the rain has shut down that parade."

"I doubt you would have received any fanfare anyway," Cubone shook her head. "Don't expect me to lead you, I wouldn't last long in this." She narrowed her eyes at him. "…are you telling the truth? Do they _actually_ expect you at the Elders?"

Dewott looked down to her, "It wouldn't be wise for someone to converse with their Hatchlings otherwise. Yes, I swear by my scalchops." He took one of the shells off of his thigh and held it between his hands, bowing his head.

Cubone narrowed her eyes at him, then shook her head. "Whatever. Come on." She headed back up the hill. "If the Elders want to meet you, if the Marowak didn't show up, if the heavens opened up and cried Sky-Spark down onto the plains…. It falls to me to make sure an expected guest of the Tribe isn't killed from a Spark-strike. Trial rules or not," She rolled her eyes and scoffed, stopping next to the opening to her den. "Come on. Giant rock or not, you still can get hit out here." She motioned to the large outcropping above her before pulling at her cloak, showing a singed spot in the fur by the right shoulder, "Overly curious wild Buizel learned the hard way. Not that I'm complaining."

Dewott hesitated outside the entrance, "I… thank your hospitality." He bowed and ducked inside with his rutsack in his arms. He paused to shake the water off. Then froze, bowing his head slightly, "My apologies."

Cubone sighed, looking away to reach up under her skull helm to wipe the water from her eyes. She settled it back in place and grabbed his arm, then pulled him into the darkness. Dewott half-stumbled along, bent over with his free-hand tracing the ceiling as he watched the pale arch of light disappear behind a bend in the tunnel.

Cubone scowled, "….they're going to have my head for helping you, or they're going to have my skull for helping you. Either way, I really… really don't care at this point. Stop here."

She let go of him. Dewott stood in the utter darkness, the echos of the downpour the only sound inside. "…may I ask why?"

"Why they want my head, why they'd take my skull, why I don't care, or why you should stop and not walk into a wall?" Sparks flew off the left wall from where Cubone's voice echoed from. "Then again, they're all the same question." More sparks, they fell off the wall and landed on a pile of kindling. Flames were coaxed into being, illuminating the small lizard's face. The flames were put into a pile off wood and slowly, a fire was born, the smoke drifting upward through a hole in the ceiling, a small trickle of water running down the wall and through a crack in the rocky floor. Cubone hung her cloak on a small peg driven into the wall next to the fire. "Well, except for the last one… maybe."

She wore the arms of the Buziel as a sort of gloves, keeping the palm of the paw but made holes for her claws to pass through where the Buezel's should have been. They ran back over her elbows to her shoulders, the little blue fins sticking at awkward angles as she moved. She left them on, slowly moving to rub her left forearm where the fin was when she saw Dewott's confused look.

Dewott shook his head, then took a moment to look around the small chamber, all the while glad that its ceiling allowed him to stand fully. The cavern's walls and floor were baked black with a soot that refused to come out of the rock despite repeated desperate attempts to wash it off, the floor showing clean wear patterns all around the chamber. A small sleeping area with several fur pelts sat a comfortable distance away from the fire; Dewott spotted Ratatta, Sentret, and Electrike furs in the pile. Across the room was another alcove, this one with several wooden panels wedged into the rock wall. Cubone pulled one away and shoved her pack into a niche in the rock beyond it. Aside from the tunnel leading into this main chamber, there was only one other passage leading out, arching out of view. Across from form it, a pile of rocks and rubble from an old cave-in had blocked another. With the soot of the fire from long ago all over them, the areas where Cubone had attempted to clear it were obvious. Moreso were the spots where the ceiling had caved in again.

Cubone saw him looking around, "If you know about my Tribe, you know what a Spirit Chamber is. …mine's down that tunnel." She closed the little cubby and opened another, reaching in for something inside. She froze, glared at Dewott, then wedged the little door against the side of the cubby, a little privacy screen.

"I will not desecrate it by entering," Dewott pledged, standing straight but with his eyes closed. Cubone shook her head before resting it against the panel she just replaced. She wore a different skull now, this one a Buizel's. The Buizel's two tails hung off the back like a long ponytail split in half, held together by two vertebrae at the back of the skull.

"There isn't much left to desecrate," She said softly, smoothing the fur of one of the tails and flicking it back over her shoulder. "The fire that charred the walls completely destroyed the chamber as well. All the shrines to generations of Spirit Guardians… it's all soot and ashes now. ...except for the shrines made by the Cubone who lived in here since—just mine to a little Shinx..." Her voice faded off as her eyes clouded for a few seconds before she suddenly moved to feed the fire.

Dewott watched her and slowly sat down on the other side of the fire. Her eyes quickly becoming lost in thought again as she leaned back. Dewott sighed. "…I never forgot the first life I took either. It haunts you… at least yours was wild. An—"

"I didn't kill the little guy," Cubone said quickly. "His parents abandoned him, runt of the litter, I think. He… starved to death, too weak to catch anything by himself. I found him too late. …he was purring in my arms when he went."

"I didn't mean to pry," Dewott said quickly, but cautiously. "I was just trying to... I'm sorry, I overstepped—"

Cubone scoffed, "Don't console me. I don't need your pity!" She sighed and shook her head, smoothing the fur of the Buizel tails again. "No. I thought for sure he'd pull through and I'd actually have someone—wild or not—who actually cared—_tch_, yeah!" Her voice snapped hazardous and she tossed the Buizel tail over her shoulder again. "Of all the Hatchlings to stalk, you got the one that aaaaaall the Marowak _despise_. There are _loads_ of dens closer to the Caverns, but they put me all the way out here in Charred as a _warning_ to me."

"…I accept your hospitality but—"

"No-no!" Cubone laughed, "You wanted to know how the Tribe treats us, right? Well, here's how they treat _me_ and it speaks _wonders_ of how the Tribe works. If I'm lucky, I see a Marowak about twice a _month_. If I'm lucky! They don't listen to me. They don't answer any questions I ask. They put me through long and tiring drills they don't think I can do—which I can, _easily_—and leave. That's it. It's been like that for about two years now. Why? You'll love this—because, as a Yearling, I was _too curious_."

She paused just long enough for Dewott to try to speak. She cut him off, "Yearlings stay within the Caverns for their first year to train, to learn, so on and so forth, yadda yadda. I'm sure you know that bit, yeah?!" She huffed, plopping back down on the other side of the fire. "…there was a chamber full of storytellers. We were taken down there by one of the Marowaks for a story or two one time. Most of the other Hatchlings thought it was boring—they just wanted to fight, learn how to hunt, and dream of being in the Bone Warriors. Me too, but…"

Dewott nodded, "You liked the stories and eventually it was just you going down there."

Cubone nodded, "Didn't matter what the story was, I liked listening to them. The Tribe's Foundation, The Tale of the Fifteen Spirits, the Three Spirit Tale, the Little, Hungry Caterpie. Didn't matter what." She sighed and propped her head up in her arms, staring into the fire again. "Little tiny Cubone, still wearing her shell, wandering down the darker caves to find them. Ignoring sparring practice, ignoring the Chief's…. I wouldn't call them lectures. He just kinda _glares_ at you and you know what he's thinking. I don't think I've actually heard him speak…. I ignored that look.

"And then one day that chamber was completely empty. They were gone. No trace. No one would tell me where they went, just that they were moved to get me back to my training—I only had a year to learn before the trials began." She tossed her hands up in the air. "Except _no one_ knew where they went. The old Marowak who knew the tales and stories of our Tribe… just gone." She sighed. "But they were _somewhere_—the eighth Hatchling didn't seem like she was fit enough to go through the Trials so she was sent to become a storyteller. …at least, that's what they tell me. It's why I'm the odd Hatch out."

"And what about the other Cubone Hatchlings in the Trial?" Dewott asked.

"I don't know because I don't know where any of them are. I've been all over the Reservation and… I think I'm literally the only Hatchling this side of the Caverns," She shook her head. "One of the Marowak tried to say that their lack of instruction is because I don't need it." She shrugged. "Well, in all of the Tests I'm the strongest fighter, so maybe they're right. I just take what I learned from the Storytellers and applied it." She glared at him. "That _is_ what you're supposed to do with history, right?"

"Besides being forced to watch it repeat itself, yes," Dewott frowned, looking off to the side. "…I'm trying to think of a polite way to phrase this but…."

"My Tribe's retarded," Cubone said bluntly.

"Backwards, yes. But I'm glad you can see that," Dewott laughed sadly. "…but are you really the reason they were moved? It seems extreme."

"Apparently this all happened before! Except, I'm a _much _better fighter than the Exile ever was. Maybe they think I'll try to lead a coup like he did, but succeed this time. Apparently, this was his den and they gave it to me as a warning of what could happen. I guess. Apparently he killed another Hatchling in here, but I think they're just trying to scare me. Psh. It's just me in here. Well… don't get me started on that." She scowled, half glaring in the direction of her storage cubbies.

"A… coup," Dewott frowned. "Is that what they're telling you he did?"

"Basically." She sighed. "But that's how the tribe treats their Cubone. Or at least the one that actually… I'm pretty sure the others are completely wrapped up in their dogma to the point where they would have left you out there to fry—you're not supposed to be in here. No one else but the Marowak but it doesn't matter. The Final Trial is in a few weeks, and then I'm going to find out where the storytellers are. No, I'm going to _demand_ to know where they are."

Dewott nodded, "So the Hatchling Trials are only seven years now."

"The one sane thing they did," Cubone scoffed. "I have a feeling it was the one Marowak trying to do away with the Trials completely. Heck, she was the one trying to get the Hatchlings to _go_ to the Storytellers. …when they disappeared, she didn't know where they went either. She's a Marowak—a _Bone Warrior_ Marowak and they won't tell her." Cubone sighed and looked at Dewott out of the corner of her eye. "Even the Scyther Tribe's… what do they do again?"

"They had all their Hatchlings in one camp—"

"That! The last Trial Test was _in_ that place and there wasn't a single Scyther there! Either they moved or they don't do that anymore!" She growled and put her head in her hands. "There was only six of us at that test—someone… died…. Even wilds take care of their children while the _superior Marowak_ half-abandon them." Cubone looked up to Dewott with tired, confused eyes, the glow in them flickering slightly. "Why is my tribe so messed up? I… …don't even know... I—I remember a Marowak saying that once a year…." she looked down at her feet. "I haven't been abandoned, have I?"

"I don't know," Dewott sighed, closing his eyes.

The silence clouded the air. Cubone watched the smoke drift upward, slowly becoming more in more interested in making sure it was filtering out through the hole properly and the amount of water flowing down it.

Then, "You said you liked stories."

Cubone looked over.

"I've got one for you," Dewott said, meeting her eyes. "…apparently one your tribe doesn't want you to hear."

"…go on."

"It's the Exile's."

Cubone sat back, eyes wide and blinking in shock. Dewott tilted his head. Cubone shook hers, "Wait, he's still alive!?"

"No," Dewott frowned. "…no, he died four years ago."

"Then why are you here—they don't care about him! They want all of us to _forget _him—in fact, _I'm_ the only Hatchling who actually knows about him, and that's only because an old Marowak—"

"It's been twenty-three years since he left the Reservation," Dewott said curtly. "Plenty of time for the story to be bastardized and twisted. This warning, it doesn't _just_ apply to them; they are just the hardest ones to tell it because the previous bearer of it was the Exile. I'm here to tell what _really _happened. In their eyes, his story starts with treason… and they're right. That's the story they don't want you to hear.

He stood up and paced away, towards the entry and leaned on the lower roof of the tunnel, "But it doesn't _stop._ His story continues, after he leaves the reservation, after he treks across the land of Arcia." He paused and looked back at her. "…he didn't die in vain. Many, many Pokemon owe him their lives." He shook his head and walked over to Cubone, kneeling down next to her. "And he died, he… did so… saving my life.

"His story starts with treason, yes. But it ends with a _warning_. One that everyone needs to hear if we're going to fight the forces that are coming our way in…" He drifted off and shook his head, "Your council expects the warning, but I'm going to tell them the entire thing—his entire story even if it means I have to hold them all hostage. But after all you told me, I doubt they'll take it to heart." Dewott sighed. "This story and telling it to all who listens… it's all I can do for him. And, at the very least, you can listen even if they don't. …my name is Joshua and, I ask you, will you hear it?"

Cubone blinked for a second, "…go for it."

"Thank you," Joshua nodded with a soft smile

"It's not like we're going anywhere," Cubone shrugged.

Joshua sighed again, shaking his head and sitting down next to her.

"Despite how secular your tribe is, the Council of Elders knows most of the Exile's friends and allies," Joshua started. "If any of them set foot in their territory, it will be under risk of death. However, your Council doesn't know me, and they think the warning as a warning, not a tale.

"I will be honest though. I… never actually met the Exile, I just know that he saved my life. I know everything through his friends and those with him at the time. They told me their parts of the stories and I've cataloged them. With the help of a few Psychics, I've made sure I've never will forget… though I do have to exaggerate for the listeners benefit. I've found that it's better to tell it this way rather than from his own perspective."

"How did he die anyway?" Cubone asked. Joshua looked down at her. "Usual dogma says exiles don't last a year, your saying he lasted… seventeen?"

"Some say he died fighting an army. Some say he died fighting a legendary."

"What do you say?"

"I don't say. I know. Four years ago, he made a final stand to protect…" Joshua faded off. "It's a bit confusing to say what you knowing very little about the outside world. But… just know this. Whatever they say he fought, be it armies or legendries, they're probably right. Only one of the three that fought against the horde there walked away… even though he'll say he didn't. And those who came to the rescue had to walk down a path lined with fainted Pokemon… hundreds, at the least." Cubone gave him an incredulous look. "I'm not exaggerating. The Exile and his allies were fully equipped and they used every single item they could in their bag. Everything from Sitrius Berries to Reviver… well, you wouldn't know what those are. Just know… just know, for now, they fought against a force greater than anything you'll ever know in this Reservation… one that Arcia rarely sees…."

He sighed sadly and looked into the fire for a few seconds.

After a minute, "…normally, I start far later in the story, about eleven years ago, give-or-take, and start when he nears the town of Bluecreek. But, for you," He looked over to Cubone, "I'll make an exception. For you, the story starts twenty-eight years ago, when he was six—one year in the Caverns and five into the Trials. It starts on a rainy day _far_ more calm than his, but still strong all the same, he was up at the mouth of this very den, probably doing the same thing you were doing; a Cubone Hatchling, raging at the sky for raining. And, just like your life will change in a few days, so would his.

"But, events had already been set in motion. Events that would ultimately put him down the path that would eventually lead him to that final stand, a fighting retreat down the sides of a canyon alongside his two strongest allies against a world. And, ultimately, they would all fall. If no one heeds my warning, so will we."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**There's a long list of things I need to thank for inspiring me to write this. First and foremost, ScytheRider's: _PMD: Silver Resistance, _the story that made me want to write this one out. And then there's MokePon (a comic), CharCole (another comic), various Nuzlocke Comics (Petty's and Ky-Nim's in particular), as well as a strange little CYOA on the _Brawl in the Family_ forums called 'A Slightly Different Pokemon Journey.'**

**This story is has had a lot of iterations before I put it up here and, after several months working on it, it's fit to be put up here.**

**_So_ this is Hatch, a Cubone's Story.**

**Thank you for reading.**


	2. Ends in Beginnings

two

Ends in Beginnings

Standing in the grass, still wet with yesterday's rain, Marshall sighed. The grass was slick, smooth, and beaten down by the deluge and the tree's leaves and bark glistened, slowly drying out in the sun.

Marshall shook his head.

"Cap, there's nothing," The Marshtomp called over his shoulder, a half-defeated tone in his voice. "The rain's washed everything away. …we're going to have a hard time finding anything in all of this. Should I go ask the locals?" He waited for a reply for several seconds, then turned around. "…sir, should I go ask the locals. They might have seen…." He sighed. "Captain. Captain! Marsh to Xera!"

He shook his head and walked up to the Captain and tapped her shoulder.

The Xatu flinched, snapping her head away from the sun to Marshall. The Marshtomp looked back up at her with a blunt glare. He was tall for a Marshtomp his age, but Xera was still two or three heads taller. The height difference didn't mean anything though. Marshall clearly had more experience in this matter. And it wasn't just because of the symboled scarf he wore around his neck or his frayed head fin, laced with old scars. But she was leading this search party and he still had to answer to her.

"Captain," Marshall repeated flatly. "The trail's gone cold. The rain has washed the trail away from here on out—even I can't find anything. Should I go ask the locals. They might have seen him running. And even if they didn't, they know the Reservation more than we do. They know the spots he could have hid away in—not to mention the back way out of here. I've been turned around one too many times."

"Even with the rain, he left behind enough for us to follow him this far," Xera said, looking around. "If there is nothing more, then he is nearby."

"Then he's hiding somewhere—and you don't sense him?"

"No. But he's a Dark Type. My Psychic powers—"

"Miracle Eye," Marshall butted in, voice flat and eyes tired. "Miracle Eye lets Psychic detect Dark Types."

The Xatu nodded, "But Miracle Eye does not penetrate the foliage. Even then, I would have to be able to have cast it on him beforehand. …furthermore, I am having no visions of the past here."

"Xera…" Marshall groaned. "Okay. Cap, I _am_ going to talk to the locals. If Arceus favors us at all, I'll find a sensible Luxray—even a Shinx would do. We just need to see through all this. In the meantime, there's a Blastoise and his family in one of the rivers here—he's the one that comes to town with his Squirts once-twice a week to sell items found here in the Res. My favorite Pecha Scarf? Got it from him. And, like I said, he can at least show us the way out at the end of the day."

"Then I shall scry here and wait for word from the others," Xera nodded. "Lynn has found the other parties by now and should be returning shortly with a report on their status."

"Hopefully she found Gamr on his wild Psyduck chase." Marshall nodded back, "Don't go staring into the sun, Cap. There _are _wilds here. Some nasty, most adorable—by adorable I mean they like playing with you and dragging you off if they like you enough. _Not_ adorable like they're all cuddly and stuff—don't fall for that either. I don't want to send a rescue party after you as well." He took a few steps away before glancing back. Xera stood in the middle of the clearing, looking at the sun with her eyes close. He sighed and threw his hands up slightly, "Okay. Fine. Close enough."

Skidding down the hillside on the wet grass, the forest dropped away and he pattered along on all fours across the grasslands. The river wasn't far, just a quick run from the base of the hill. It ran through and from the plain in the distance and between the two hills and into the forest with a faint roar, its water murky from all the silt that had washed into it.

"Hey! Marshall!" The little voice came from behind to his left, a young Squirtle slid down the hill on the hill on his shell. Marshall stopped and watched with amusement as the little guy skidded to a stop in front of him, spinning slightly. The small turtle's face beamed with excitement, eyes aglow and a huge smile across his face, "You're _way_ too busy saving the world to be in the Rez! You on vacation time?!"

Marshall smiled slightly, helping the Squirtle off his back. "I wish. No, someone ran in here—Derrik, of all Pokémon. We're trying to find him—is your Dad around…?" he paused for a second, then stretched his neck to look at the Squirtle's shell, two darker splotches around the left shoulder. "…Samm, two 'M's, right?"

"Jack, one 'K'," The Squirtle corrected, laughing. Marshall snapped his fin-fingers. "It's okay, everyone gets us mixed up since our shell markings are same-y. Samm's the shorter one. Uh, but Dad's not here—upriver helping the Bibarels. They were redoing their dam and weren't expecting the downpour. The dam might break and flood everything so everyone's up there fixing it. Dad, Mom, Samm… I'm just holding down the den—ooh! Can I help? Can I? Can I?"

Marshall sighed, tilting his head left and right in thought, then knelt down to eye-level. "…actually. You know all the little hiding places that your parents can never find, right? Mind sharing a few? I won't tell. Derrik might have stumbled on one and spent the few nights in it until the rain stopped."

Jack jumped onto Marshall's shoulders. "Cool! I'm helping you guys! This is _awesome_! I'm on a mission with Team Blazewater! And even if I can't find him, we'll get Zoey. She knows every spot to hide in—she always _wins_ hide-and-seek." He stopped bouncing. "…why'd Derrik run _here_? Wait, which Derrik? Derrik the Ekans or Derrik the Eevee?"

"The one that always has his nose in a book, not up in the air."

"Eevee," Jack nodded, half-disappointed. "Last time I saw him, I scared him right out of his fur—he was on the ceiling! And all I did was drop by the Library to say hi! Why's he here? He never comes _here_. Always scared to leave town. You know that!"

"_Was_ and Eevee," Marshall sighed again, "He evolved two days ago… and ran off two days ago. His parents wanted him to be a Vaporeon. Vaporeon like his mother, or Leafeon like his grandfather. He choose Umbreon and… his parents didn't like his choice that much."

Jack looked down, "Eevees are weird."

Marshall shrugged and glanced up, "Well, here's the thing about Eevee…." He drifted off, eyes distant across the river. "Ooooh, boy…."

"What?" Jack looked up., standing up on Marshall's shoulders to get a better look. A Marowak and two Cubone made their way down the opposite hillside, a ways on the other side of the river. The Marowak was distracted talking to the Cubone on his left. Marshall, blinked—only one of the Cubone wore a skull on his head—the one the Marowak was distracted with. The other wore a large, thick eggshell, split cleanly longways and bleached white by the sun, black eyes peering out through carefully punched holes. Jack bounced again, "Oh! It's Shell! I was right, that _is_ his family!"

_Cubone snickered, "Shell. __Really__?" She broke out laughing._

There's a reason he's wearing one.

"_Oh, I __know__ the reason—it's a cheap trick when we outgrow a skull and can't find a new one that fits us. It's just… __Shell__?! Of all the things to call him?" She laughed again. "Go on. Go on. This is funny."_

_Joshua shook his head, shrugging._

Marshall blinked again, "…Shell." He looked over his shoulder, "…Jack, you talked with the Cubone?"

"Well… no," Jack admitted, sitting back down on the Marshtomp's shoulders, tail falling flat against Marshall's back. "We see him around, but he always avoids us. Shell lives up in a cave on top of the far hill—see the big rocks on that one? He's around there. The Marowak's usually around once a week. …but I've never seen the other Cubone. I always thought they were Dad and son—and the other Cubone has to be the brother, right…? …why does Shell have two clubs? …they both have two clubs—Marshall, why do they both have two clubs?"

Marshall looked back at the small group, the one Jack had named Shell carried a large bone over his shoulders with his arms draped over the ends to balance it. Even then he teetered slightly, the bone glinting metallically in the sun as he half-stumbled, tail trying to prop him up. A wooden club was secured on his back behind a small pack. Shell had certainly noticed them, but didn't seem to have said anything yet to the Marowak. The other Cubone held two short bones in each hand, almost like blunt daggers.

Marshall slowly laughed.

"Something to ask them… if they let us. I _think_ I know that Marowak. …yeah," he laughed again. "…I know him. I might be able to get a word in."

Jack frowned, confused, "Why wouldn't they want to talk to us? I always thought that Shell was just shy—he doesn't have a skull, ya know? He had one ages ago, though—when we first moved here last year. I forgot when he lost it. Maybe he's a little afraid that we'll make fun of him—we won't. We just call him Shell since, well..." Jack shrugged. "We've been trying to get him to play with us. Like before the storm, but the Marowak showed up before we even saw him."

Marshall cautiously looked back at the Squirtle. "…has your father talked to you about the Marowak Tribe here?" He asked slowly.

"Not really. Just not to bother them. Why?"

"You know what everyone calls Cubone, right? The Lonely Pokémon?"

"Well, yeah. That's why we want to be friends with him. So he won't be lonely anymore, right?"

Shell tapped the Marowak's leg with his elbow, finally getting his attention. A quick nod, the Marowak finally saw the two of them near the river. He paused for a second, then walked towards them.

"Well, it looks like we'll be able to talk today," Marshall mused. "Okay. The Tribe here's a little different from most Cubone. I'll… tell you more about them later. For now, _do not_ talk to the Cubone. Only if the Marowak wants you to, okay?" They're…" he bit his lip for a second, looking off to the side. "They're a bit weird."

"Weirder than Eevees?"

"…_slightly_—don't give your name either."

"What?"

"Just go with me here and don't interrupt—hello, Marowak!"

"Greetings," the Marowak called back over the roar of the river. "…it's been quite a while, Marshtomp. I do believe you were a little Mudkip the last time I saw you. You certainly have grown." Marowak chuckled lightly, his eyes glowing warmly behind his Charizard skull.

"Glad you recognized me," Marshall nodded, smiling pleasantly.

"Your head-fin is frayed and scarred, it's hard not to," Marowak nodded back. "A long time it has been, but it's a scar that won't heal."

"It's not the only one," Marshall added on somberly. "But what brings you here… with Hatchlings?"

Marowak motioned to the two, "These two are a special case… but still, it's not unusual for _us_ to be within our territory."

Marshall nodded, face growing serious, "I'm assisting a search party being led by the Town's police force. We're looking for an adolescent that ran in here after a fight with his parents. Nothing serious, but his parents said… …he'd been acting oddly before he ran off. From what I've gathered from the other Townsfolk… he's been growing more and more reclusive. And from my own dealings with him, I have to agree. He's also been wandering out of town a lot—which is _highly_ unusual for him. Far more so when he tries to make sure no one notices, but he's not exactly the stealthiest Pokémon out there. The fight was only the flashpoint.

"I had tracked him to a spot up the hill behind me," He pointed over his shoulder, "but then the trail went cold. The Captain believes he's hiding in the area, but we don't know where. This Squirtle's family knows the area, but his parents are upriver helping repair the Bibarel dam before it breaks. He has volunteered to show us several hiding areas. However, if we can have your Tribe's skills in tracking, we may find him much faster."

The Marowak stood solemnly for a minute, eyes behind his skull blank.

Jack leaned over Marshall's shoulder, whispering, "Why didn't you tell them that—"

"Eevee are—nevermind. To them, it's considered rude to tell them what they would be looking for before they agree to help look. Like telling someone what to cook before they agree they're the one cooking tonight."

"They don't like Eevee?"

"They actually consider them sacred. _Especially_ Umbreon."

Marowak nodded to himself, "…it would make for an excellent test for the Hatchlings." He looked upstream to the bridge that spanned the river, the water running right up to its foundation. "…young Squirtle, is the bridge safe to use?"

Jack froze for a second, "Uh. Y-yeah. The w-water need to be a few feet higher… it's safe."

"Then let us walk," Marowak nodded. The five of them moved upstream. From his perch on Marshall's shoulders, Jack watched Shell slowly hobble along behind the other two Cubone, teetering left and right with his steps, his tail stretching to counterbalance it. Shell glanced their way—Jack snapped his head away.

"….Marshtomp, I see you wear a scarf," Marowak said after a minute. "May I ask what it stands for?"

"What…? Oh, the emblem," Marshall absent-mindedly looked down at it, brushing off a loose blade of grass that had plastered itself across the emblem. "After that incident with the Hatchlings that one year, me and Ga—my Houndour friend decided to start a Team. The two us, as well as a Zangoose we recruited … eh, about a year and a half ago—we're team Blazewater, our symbol is a raindrop with a heart of flame."

"A Team?" Marowak prodded. "You will have to clarify."

"Well…" Marshall faded off, glancing over the Cubone before meeting Marowak's eyes again. "With all the Mystery Dungeons in the world, and the several we had to go through back then… the two of us decided that we wanted to figure them out." He shrugged, "The thing is, mostly everyone knows where they are and what's in them these days, so we're not _exactly_ an Exploration Team, but we do a bit more than finding Pokémon and items lost in them, so we're not _exactly_ a Rescue Team either. It's… a bit hard to say what we do without going too much into it, but we're sort of an Odd Jobs Team—jacks-of-all-trades. There isn't much of a Guild in this part of Arcia, so we had to found our own when we wanted to get serious."

Marshall laughed, rolling his eyes, "Was _that_ fun. But we're set up in Elmgrove and there's two other Teams operating out of base—"

Jack forced himself into Marshall's view, "Are you guys still talking about doing Junior teams?" Marshall, glanced between him and the Cubone on the other side of the river. Jack shrunk back, "Sorry."

Marshall paused a few seconds, "We're also thinking about setting up Junior Teams for the kids," He glanced over his shoulder to Jack again. "Little Teams to teach teamwork and leadership and stuff to them. They'll go through the smaller Dungeons and such _without_ having me _lecture_ them on the _dangers_ when I see them at the exit. …but we don't have the funds to keep them properly equipped and officially recruit their little rag-tag teams as part of the Guild. Even though we do have a large area to cover, even between the three Teams, jobs are a bit hard to come by so we take what we can. Everything from hunting criminals to finding lost kids, Odd Jobs. That isn't to say there haven't been a few… situations we had to defuse, but everything's a bit lax around here."

Marowak nodded, "The Tribes' presence here helps in such matters."

"…a bit."

Marowak shrugged, "But in any case, I have no doubt you and the Houdour make an excellent Team. I will have you know that you two are the first our Tribe will call if ever need outside help."

"What?" Marshall missed a step. He blinked, "…even after what happened—"

"That… isn't to say such a situation will arise any time soon."

Marshall shook his head, but laughed, "Sounds about right."

"So what's a Mystery Dungeon?" Shell spoke up—he had stopped and taken the club off his shoulders, stretching. Marowak stopped for him, Marshall followed suit.

"Such matters does not concern you, little one," Marowak said bluntly. "Just know that we've made sure that there are none in this area." Marowak looked across the river, meeting Marshall's eyes for a few seconds before he sighed. "Very well. Marshtomp. As you are the Guild Leader, a brief summary of Mystery Dungeons, if I may ask."

"…how brief?"

"Very."

"Okay, short version of the short version," Marhall rolled his shoulders, "Mystery Dungeons. They're a phenomenon that just _happens_ randomly all over Arcia. No one's _exactly_ sure why; we just—well, the guys who think they know say it's a sort of curse over the landscape. …most Pokémon think they're cast by you-know-who. …one of the two anyway. Basically. They can happen everywhere. Forests, caves, and canyons are most common, but they've been known to happen in the sky—the clouds, in the ocean, and, my _favorite_, over roads. Every five steps, a branch-off and the exit can any of them.

"We call them Mystery Dungeons because they don't make much sense. Every time you enter one, walls shift, rivers flow differently, trees grow in spots where they weren't—there was a time where we took a branch for a torch at an entry of one, the next time we went in, that tree was a good mile into it. Moreover, going straight can lead you in circles while always going left sometimes leads to new places. Most Dungeons have this weird feeling when you near their entry, like not knowing where the walls are in a dark room. So, rule number one of Mystery Dungeons—_don't go into them_." He glared at Jack with that.

"And the reason for there being teams in the first place?" Marowak asked as his group started moving again.

Marshall hesitated, giving Marowak a questioning glare, "…well. Pokémon get stranded in them. The curse saps your energy far faster than usual—you get hungry really fast so you need supplies to get through them. Second, as I already said, it's hard to keep a sense of direction in them.

"Part of being part of a Team is being able to make mental maps of shifting dungeons on the fly, but most Pokémon can't wrap their heads around how going back through the passage—how taking a tunnel one way goes from Room A to Room B, but going the other way goes from Room B to Room C. It wasn't always like that, usually the passages didn't shift when you were in them… but… it's been happening a bit more often." Marshall sighed and shook his head before continuing.

"But anyway, three. They're filled with wilds that actually _live_ in the dungeon. And unlike, ya know, the wilds around here where you can actually be kinda-sorta friends with them, nearly _every single one_ in a Mystery Dungeon wants your blood. …even the Caterpies," He shivered slightly.

"All together, you might get stuck in them and lose consciousness. If you're lucky, you get kicked out by some aspect of the curse. If not, then Teams like mine are sent in to find you. _But!_ There's _always_ the possibility that you get lost forever and eventually _lose your mind_ and become one of the wilds, prowling the dungeon, hungry for the blood of naïve adventurers."

The two Cubone met his blatant attempt to spook them with idle curiosity. Jack, on the other hand, whimpered slightly.

Marshall sighed, "For the most part, if you find yourself stuck in one, the exit is always ahead, never behind. You might have to go up or down several floors to find it, just don't hesitate to attack any Pokémon that looks at you funny."

Shell shifted his club idly and looked up to Marowak, "And there isn't a single one here?"

Marowak looked down at him, "No."

"Not _yet_ anyway," Marshall chimed in. Marowak looked up at him, "…as a Guild, we have to survey all the Mystery Dungeons in our area and report the location, length, and types of Pokemon found in them to… think of it as the Main Guild of Arcia that all the little ones report to. We actually have a fourth Team in Elmgrove, but their entire job is to scout around, talk to Pokémon of other towns and travelers and find where the Dungeons are for us to go through, so they're usually not home.

"What I'm getting to is that, usually twice a year, we get a report back from the Main Guild about all the MD's in Arcia and… there's something funny going on with them. There's been an increase in Flash Dungeons and Riptide Dungeons—they form quickly, last for a few weeks, then dissipate. We've only recorded four or five in the area, but that's only what we know of. Once in a while, a Flash burns itself into the landscape and becomes a permanent one. …that's been on the rise too, despite the usual dissipation rate staying around the usual numbers."

"We've been looking over the last few reports and… there's a wave washing over Arcia—the spikes are all around each other. We're not the only one who sees it either." He scoffed. "We'll be getting a lot more jobs later in about three or four years."

There was a look of uncertainly in Marowak's eyes, he slowly choosing his words, "…Marshtomp. I have some understanding of Flash Dungeons from years ago, but what exactly is a Riptide. …both dungeon and namesake."

"Riptide—it's the extremely powerful undercurrent in large lakes and oceans that washes Pokémon out to sea," Marshall shook his head. "Of course you don't have to worry about the water—Riptide _Dungeons_… basically, they form near populated areas and... basically last only for a few days. Usually in Flash Dungeons, if they dissipate, anyone inside, even wilds, are spat out somewhere over the landscape where the Dungeon sat. 'course it takes a while for the wilds to lose whatever hold the curse had on them but…."

Marshall faded off for a second, looking away, " …no one is left behind from Riptides. They pull Pokémon in, dissipate, and then everyone inside disappears. Forever. It's too much of a risk for anyone to go into a Riptide after someone else. Luckily, Riptides usually have this feel to them that most of the more permanent ones do. Sometimes an even worse one," Marshall paused, "…that feeling of being in a very, dark large room and not knowing where the walls are, or if the next step is solid ground." Marowak's eyes slowly dropped into a glare. "…I figured I might as well tell you while I had the chance. We've been trying to catch a Marowak to pass the information along to for the last few months."

The five of them were at the bridge. Marowak lead the Hatchlings across.

"Marshtomp," Marowak half-warned, his voice weary, but he dropped it immediately. "…did you know that there are Lairon here?"

"No." Marshall frowned and glanced away for a second. "…no I didn't. I thought there wasn't any iron around here for them to eat."

"Where there then two Lairon, both fairly small, probably just evolved, who came through town this week, or last week, or earlier."

"This week? …don't think so, I probably would have heard about it. But before last week, I'm not the one to ask. All of the teams were out," He half-smiled, "Arcues smiled on us, there was a large group of Growlithe outlaws with a large bounty on their head sighted nearby. We nabbed all of them except one or two that we… think…." He faded off as he noticed the skull on the other Cubone's head. The Cubone was also oh-so-suddenly interested in the running water below the bridge. "…or should I not worry about them anymore?"

The Cubone snapped facing Marshall. "He found my den an' threatened to kill me," The Cubone said with a scoff. "I returned the favor, 'cept I don't deal in threats."

"And _this_ one returned to his several days ago only to find one and a half Lairons…" Marowak started, slightly sighing. "Having found no iron… one was eating the other. It promptly left without confrontation. It certainly wasn't wild."

Marshall felt Jack squirm and eyed Shell's bone, its metallic sheen, how it squashed him under its weight. Marshall rubbed his forehead, stifling a sigh. "...don't strain yourself, kid. I don't mind going in the water after you, but I think you might."

"I'm fine," Shell answered simply, "I am not using it to fight with. Not yet."

Hence the wooden one, Marshall realized. He looked to the other Cubone, "So why do you have two—?"

"'cuz everyone expects me to carry just one!" the other one said defiantly, clumsily spinning them in his hands. "I throw one an' they dodge it an' they're like, ha! I got you now! But then I throw the other an' _bam!_ And the first comes back like _wham!_" He puffed out his chest proudly._ "_It's how I killed the Growlithe."

Marowak sighed," This one has failed numerous times to correctly balance a full club. Should we find a proper club for him today, this will be his …" His eyes went distant for a second, "seventy-eighth attempt."

The Cubone looked up at Marowak, annoyance in his eyes, stamping his foot. "_Maaarooo!_ I'm trying something new! You told me the world changes an' adapts an', well, I don't want it to adapt to me! I want to keep the world off-guard!"

Shell blinked, leaning around Marowak slightly to see the other Cubone with a look of amazement. He leaned too far and tumbled.

Marshall caught him, "Easy." Shell bit his lip and took a few steps back to Marowak, "I'm telling you, kid, that thing might not be the best…" he noticed a spider-webbing of scars all over Shell's left arm, little ripples of a lighter brown that never healed and never will, probably almost as old as he was. "It might not be the best thing to use right now."

"Well," Shell started, but stopped. Then, "I want to catch the World off-guard, just like Hatch. Between him and me, no Spirit can stop us."

The other Cubone glanced at shell with amusement, then smiled to himself and nodded.

"Well, good look with that," He mused, laughing slightly as he unconsciously rubbed his head-fin.

"So tell me, Marshtomp," Marowak interrupted before the Cubone could say anything else. "We've certainly wandered far from the original topic. What Pokémon exactly are you looking for." It wasn't exactly a question.

"Oh, right," Marshall shook his head at himself. "We're looking for an Umbreon na—" he cleared his throat, "an Umbreon."

Marowak slowly nodded, sighing deeply as he looked down the river, "…just as I thought." He turned back to Marshall. "There are not many wild Eevee here on the Reservation, and the few that do live elsewhere. Hatchling," he looked down to Shell. "If you will tell the Marshtomp what happened two days ago…?"

"I know where the Umbreon is," Shell said quietly, not meeting Marshall's eyes. "I found it yesterday when I was returning from hunting on this side of the river. It wasn't there the first time I came through, but it was when I came back. It's dead. I'll show you where it is."

Shell teetered past Marshall and made his way up the hill behind them, crawling on three with one arm steadying the steel bone across his shoulders. Marshall followed Shell with Hatch in tow.

Marshall's shoulders slumped a minute later. He let out a long, slow, sad, sigh.

Shell continued, unaware that Marshall had stopped, "I thought it was wild, but the rain was picking up faster than I thought it would and I needed to get back to my den. So I hid it so the Rattata wouldn't get to it. I didn't know it was… somebody."

"He wanted to _eat Derrik?!_" Jack whispered, a horrified pang in his voice.

"I… don't think so," Marshall answered just loud enough for him to hear. "I dunno, what he really wanted… was… was his skull."

"_What!?"_

"It's part of who they are—"

"But Derrik…."

"The other Cubone is wearing a dead Growlithe that robbed, maybe killed other Pokémon."

"But Hatch did that because… it was a bad guy right? And it was going to hurt him! But Derrik—"

"Jack. Shell didn't _know_. It's not his fault. He didn't _kill_ Derrik…" he shook his head and sighed. "…I … I want to blame him too, but I'm not. Someone else did this and Shell… was just being himself, okay? …one more thing before we catch up. Hatch is just short for Hatchling, okay? It's what they call each other. It's not a name. Don't you go calling them that. At least not to them."

Jack nodded, understanding. His shivering only stopped for a second when he blinked, "Wait. So you know them then. Their names…?"

"Jack…" Marshall shook his head. "They're Cubone Hatchlings. They don't have names." He waited for Jack to say anything. He didn't. "Don't worry yourself about it." Marshall bit his lip and looked away, "…do you want to go home or…?"

Jack only clung tighter, burying his tears in the back of the Marshtomp's neck.

"Okay…" Marshall said softly, swallowing hard. "Okay. It's… it's going to be okay."

* * *

**It's only this dark for the next few chapters, don't worry.  
And that's the entirety of the exposition for a long while as well. I didn't want to lump it all together, but this is the only time to say it.**

**The plan is to upload once a week, so see you all the next. Thanks for reading.**


	3. Tuesday

three

Tuesday

Marowak's voice snapped Xera out of her trance. "Hatchlings, this is the Captain of the police force of Elmgrove, the village the Marshtomp has been talking about. It is a village of Pokemon outside the Reservation. She leads a group of Pokémon that keeps the town safe, much like Marshtomp, but in a different fashion." She turned to them, blinking aware and in surprise. Marowak bowed a nod as a greeting before looking back down the Cubone, "You may call her Captain."

"Hello, Cap'n," The two said together.

"Greetings," Xera smiled as she looked down to them, the kind sparkle in her eyes offsetting her imposing height over them.

"Cap," Marshall called forward before she got another word in, "The Hatchling with the eggshell knows where the Umbreon is. He found him two days ago coming back to his den through here…." He swallowed, then cleared his throat quietly. "The Cubone found him dead."

That kind sparkle faded and she looked away, "I see. Show us, little Cubone. I have made a promise to his family to return him. We shall do all the same."

Shell nodded and walked through the small clearing away from Xera, stopping when he was in the middle of it. Looking around, he carefully set down the bone off his shoulders, wincing as he stretched his arms and neck.

Shell scowled as he looked at the grass, "The rain has wet down the grass too much—there's a tall weed next to the tree that I hid it in… I don't use it enough to know where it is by heart. …give me a minute."

Looking around again, he sidestepped until the trees lined up a certain way and turned until the river was directly behind him. Pointing to the tree directly in front of him, he counted three trees to the left and marched to the tree behind it. He crawled around its base.

He walked away. "We're in the wrong spot," Shell said, more to himself than anything. He scanned the trees as he walked along, eyes locking on a large oak after a minute. He glanced left and nodded at another clearing, then walked up to the tree and peeled the grass off its trunk, revealing a stone slap fitted into the ground at its base. Shell grabbed his wooden club and pried the stone away from the tree with the pointy end, just enough so he can pull it away with his hands, just enough so he can look in.

He sat back.

"It's still in here, nothing has touched it," The Cubone said solemnly. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. "…Marshtomp…? Captain…?" He looked around again. "…do you want me to open it fully or…?" Marowak looked between the three, waiting for someone to move.

Marshall did first, lifting the Squirtle off his shoulders and setting him down next to Xera. He whispered to Jack, "Your Dad will kill me if I let you see this. Stay here."

Jack nodded and let go, biting his lip as Xera put her wing on his shoulder, pulling him to her side. After a long hesitation, Marshall took a deep breath and headed towards the tree. Jack folded his arms and looked around anxiously. The other Cubone stood on the other side of the Captain with Marowak not far beyond. Hatch glanced at Jack and faintly nodded before focusing back on the tree.

Shell took a few steps back as Marshall approached. Marshall stood still for another minute, then took a deep breath, kneeled down and pulled at the stone.

His blue face went several shades lighter, "Arceus. …what… what happened to…." He pushed himself away and glanced up, "I… I think Scyther got him." He swallowed hard. "M-Marowak, are there Scyther in these parts of the Rez?"

"Not normally," Marowak said, a worry growing in his voice, "but they are our rival Tribe here. We skirmish from time to time, but as of late there has been no bad blood between us."

"R-right," Marshall nodded, standing up and taking a deep breath away from the tree. "I forgot about them."

"However, they, like us, do not prey on Knowing Pokemon. For obvious reasons." Marowak stepped quickly to Marshall, giving Shell back his heavy club on his way by. Shell teetered. "…if I may…." Marshall gladly stepped away. Shell toppled over behind them. "…it seems…" He faded off as his head disappeared in to the trunk for a moment.

He came back out quickly, "Marshtomp, Captain. May I speak with you away from the Hatchlings and the Squirtle. They do not need to be involved in this matter." The Xatu had joined them at the tree before Marowak had finished.

The three quickly walked into the trees.

"Tch." Hatch shook his head when they were far enough away. "So. What got it, Hatch?"

Shell walked back, shrugging, "Yesterday… I thought Scyther. I was hoping that I hid it, they'd lose their kill." He shrugged. "But now… the wounds are free of most of the blood…." He shook his head. "I'm not too sure. Why would they leave it to begin with? They don't need to fear the rain as much as we do. But since the Umbreon wasn't wild…."

"So?" Hatch scoffed again, "Wild Scyther. More insane than the usual blade-bugs. I heard Maro talkin' about 'em during one of our Training sessions. They're around… okay, not _here_, but they're around."

"Hmmph," Shell half-sighed. "The gashes are a bit clean… too precise, even for Scyther standards."

"So it's a blade-bug that takes _baths_ then," Hatch snickered and wandered over to look into the tree, completely nonchalant about the sight within. "…ya don't think I can sneak one of its legs away—_OW_! I wasn't serious, Hatch!"

Shell caught his wooden club when it flew back to him, sliding it back behind his pack as he leaned on his other club.

Jack edged away from them, swallowing hard and shrinking into his shell more and more. Shell looked at him, the black eyes behind his shell seemed almost bored, almost half-expecting something from the Squirtle. Jack forced a nervous, hollow smile and nodded. Shell scoffed and looked away from him.

"Hatch," Shell called over. "…how much practice have you gotten wielding two clubs?"

Hatch walked back towards Shell, rubbing his shoulder, "More than Maro wants me to. …Hatch, you _can't_ use two Lairon bones—that thing weighs more than you do! I can lift it kinda-sorta, but you gotta flop around in order to even get it an inch off the ground, come _on_!"

"But it would be interesting!" Shell mused, then almost laughed. "Nah, Maro wants me to have a secondary club and I got an idea. …I was wondering if you were up for trade."

Hatch did laugh, "Trade? Trade what? I'm _leagues_ ahead of you. I got my own skull an' it fits an' it's _amazing_. I have my clubs _an'_ I have 'em balanced—watch!" He hurled one across the clearing. "An' then I can do this!" He swung his other at an invisible enemy, dancing through the grass. "An' then this!" He leapt up and hurled it.

The first hit his head on his way back down, twisting him around and he face-planted. Shell snickered.

"Yeah, yeah," Hatch groaned, getting back up, one hand checking the spot on the skull he was hit, the other repositioning slightly. "So I haven't gotten the timing down yet. But I'll—" He cut himself off and turned—just in time for the other bone to hit him in the chest. "Knew it." He fell back on the ground. "Every time. Every single time. I forget about the second one."

Jack wasn't sure if he found all this funny or not with a dead body of someone he knew in a tree nearby. If anything, it only made it all the more unnerving. He shrunk back behind another tree. Shell slung his pack around and dug through it.

"Here's my side of the trade," Shell pulled out an Oran Berry and held it out to Hatch. Hatch sat up and shook his head clear before he saw the blue berry. "I've been trying over the last year to grow my own Oran Trees. Go on, take it." Hatch slowly did looking it over with slight disbelief, more from the act of Shell so nonchalantly giving one to him than anything. "A few months ago, I got it right. They're more like tall bushes right now, but they're growing Berries and they don't fall apart when you pick them like the usual ones do. I can teach you to grow your own if you teach me how to use Bone Daggers."

Hatch tilted his head in thought, flicking the berry's stem away. "…Bone Daggers… I like that name. Isn't this cheating though?"

Shell shrugged, "I found where a few of the other Hatchlings are, a day's walk North from here. Their dens are right next to each other as well. Either the Marowak want competition between us two, or they want us to cheat." He offered a paw to Hatch and helped him up. "I say we do the latter. Since we both know we're terrible."

"Just what we know, right?" Hatch clarified. "Maro'll know if we actually hunted together."

"You suddenly getting a Rattata a week?" Shell blinked, "Hatch, the Spirits couldn't hear it fast enough."

"Hey! I'll have you know that every Rattata I catch is the top—"

"You Bone-Rush the fat ones when they sleep."

Hatch scowled, "Fine… sounds good. But I want the platform on these things—you can't use my Daggers during the Trials, okay? They're my thing. If anything, you imitated me."

"Fine by me. Only plan on using one as an off-hand normal with this being my main," Shell tried to lift his bone club with just his right arm but failed. "…eventually."

Hatch nodded, then glanced at Jack and rolled his head. "Hatch, the Squirtle." Jack flinched and shrunk into his shell even more.

"Meh," Shell shrugged dismissively, "Maro'll find out eventually, but I don't think he'll care. Besides, the Squirtle—"

"Marshall!" A bark echoed through the trees, "You find him yet, Marshall?"

"…Marshall?" Hatch echoed, he looked at Jack, "What's a Marshall…? _Oh_." His head snapped to Shell. "It's the Marshtomp's _name_," he said, overdramatically.

"Ooooh," Shell gasped, but shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Marshall!" The voice barked out again. A large Houndour skidded into a clearing behind them, a scarf with a teardrop with a heart of fire on his neck. "Marshall, did you find…" He skidded to a stop at the sight of the Cubone. A Linoone scampered in behind him. "…where did the Bones come from?" He looked around the clearing," Have you three seen Marshh—" his face froze in a pang of self-frustration. "Have you see the Marsh_tomp_?" His voice an odd pitch of nicety presented with a forced smile on top.

Shell pounced, pouring as much amazement into his voice as he could, "Is Marshall his _name_?"

The Houndour half-forced a laugh, "Uh, no. No. Marsh_tomp_'s the leader of our team—of our Guild actually. You know, Guilds have a lot of Teams a-and we all report to him so as-as a joke, we call Marshall—like a General of an army, ya know? But it's funny because he's a Marshtomp. The Marshall Marsh—The Marshtomp Marshall of Elmgrove. Yeah. No. Totally not."

"It is a _title_, not a name," Marowak announced behind the three. The Cubone's heads snapped up to look at him. "Just like the Captain's title is Captain." His voice took on a more solemn tone as he looked to the newcomer. "Greetings, Houndour. I wish we could meet under less somber circumstances… but I will be blunt to… not make the news any worse. The Umbreon is dead. Murdered. Currently, we're thinking a wild Scyther. I'm nearly certain of it."

The Hatchlings exchanged looks, Shell's slightly distraught.

The Houndour balked, ears slowly going flat against his head as he took a step back. Then another. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He sat down and blinked harshly. Behind him, the Linoone backed away, then slowly ran off.

"I don't understand," Houndour finally said.

"He's gone, buddy," Marshall said carefully kneeling down next to him and put an arm around his friend's neck.

The Houndour shook him off and stood back up. He blinked aimlessly, mouth slowly opening and closing wordlessly. After a minute, "I'm… I'm… I'm… I'm… I'm going to find… yeah. I'm… I'm…" he turned around and slowly walked off. "I'm… yeah. I'm…"

Shell and Hatch looked at each other. Hatch shrugged. Shell nodded towards Jack.

The Squirtle was gazing back to where the Houndour disappeared, arms in shell, shivering. Tears rolling down his cheeks and into his shell. Marshall slowly walked over to him and lifted him, patting him on the back as the little turtle cried into his shoulder.

"Hatchlings," Marowak called out, "After the Captain hears everything you did two days ago," He singled out Shell with a soft glare, "You two will be returning to your own dens; our hunting trip is cancelled." The two Cubone groaned. "I will be aiding the Captain in tracking down the Umbreon's murderer. It is imperative that we find it as soon as we can, for the sake of everyone in this Reservation as well as yours. If… if the Marshall may do me a favor…."

"Hmm?" Marshall looked up from Jack.

"…on second thought, nevermind. You have more pressing matters to attend to and…with," He looked to where the Houndour had disappeared. "…I will pass word onto the Tribe Council myself once I have all the information. …after all, if we do not paint the picture correctly, we will have a repeat of what happened that one year. Their… assistance in this matter would be preferable."

Marshall slowly blinked.

"…alright," He said after minute, nodding slowly. "I'll go take this guy to his father and tell him what's going on—he's the caretaker of this part of the Reservation. Sorry I didn't mention him earlier."

Marowak nodded, "Yes, I remember when he met the Council. He made quite the impression with them. His cool head would be appreciated in this matter."

"When I'll get back, I'll find…" Marshall waved to where the Houndour had gone. "He'll be…" he sighed. "No he's not. But at least the wilds won't bother him. Not after that fire he started two months ago."

"Told you I didn't do it," Hatch swatted Shell softly.

Marshall rolled his eyes, "Anyway. Marowak. Captain. Hatchlings." He nodded to all of them, then turned and headed back to the river.


	4. Not Helping

four

Not Helping

He took his time walking down the hill. Jack huddled against him, shaking.

"I'm—" Marshall's voice broke, finally letting his own tears flow. "I'm… sorry you were there for that. It never even crossed my mind that Derrik…" Marshall shook his head. "No. No. The moment—the very moment we knew… I should have taken you directly to your father. Let the Captain find out and—and take you home, to you parents at least. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…" He sighed again, stifling a sob. "I had to know. …and I'm sorry for leaving you with the Cubones for a little while, but that couldn't be helped. …they didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

Jack was silent. Marshall looked down to see he was holding a shell.

"Hey," he tapped the back of the shell. Jack's eyes peered out. "It'll… it'll be alright. Derrik… we'll nab the guy, Jack. Don't worry. I don't think he'll be stupid enough to mess with a Blastoise's kids. At the worst, Derrik was wrong—I'm sorry. I'm not helping." He sighed again and sat down at the riverbank, feet in the water. "Don't worry, we'll get him. By Arceus, we'll get him. I swear. ...come on Jack, on my back." Arms popped out of the shell and held onto the back of Marshtomp's neck. They slipped into the water and started upstream.

Marshall's pace was slow and steady, cutting gently against the current. The forest thinned and retreated to the right side of the stream, replaced by the fields of grass and rolling hills on their left. Ahead, the central mountains of the Reservation appeared from behind the leaves of the trees.

"You know, the day I evolved, Derrik was ecstatic. Far, far moreso than he should have been. It wasn't until he pushed me into our nook in the library that I figured out why—I finally had _hands_ and could carry stuff around for him. I spent the rest of the night refilling and putting all the reports on every single mission we had till then in order. I mean, that's seven years' worth of missions and back then we had quite a few! Nevermind the stuff we didn't write down. Every single receipt... I think he tried roping in Zack later on, there were a few holes in the more recent things from his claws the last time I did invintory. You know, I think half the reason Gamr refuses to evolve is because he's afraid that he'll have to do what I did—Houndooms don't have hands, what's he worried about?! Yeah, maybe the horns but… well…."

Marshall sighed again, this time into the water.

Clouds lazily drifted by, casting shade here and there. A wild Luxray and a Shinx drank from the stream, the Shinx stepping back, golden eyes narrowing in confusion as a lump of red with blue arms clung to the Marshtomp. The Luxray lazily watched them pass.

The Shinx pattered up the stream alongside them, running ahead to stop and squint, its eyes flashing, trying to see what exactly was in the red shell. Failing, it would run again, stop, turn, and squint again. So immersed in its own curiosity that when a Sentret on the right side of the river shouted its warning cry from the trees, the Shinx jumped back, hissing in fright and ran back to the Luxray to hide under it. The Luxray grumbled and looked down to the Shinx, calm eyes meeting terrified ones. The larger cat nuzzled the smaller one and it settled down to nap in the sun. the Shinx giving one last glowing glare at Jack before following suit.

"Maybe he evolved into an Umbreon so he could pull all those all-nighters he's been doing recently, trying to figure out where any Missions would be... we're running out of options…. You know, if he could, I'd bet you that he'd evolve into a book. Maybe a book with thumbs. A book with thumbs and a stepladder. Call it… …viticoneon—I dunno. But then why didn't he evolve into a Espeon—psychic powers, no more getting me to pull down that almanac over and over and over again…."

The forest took back both sides of the river and the clouds and the mountains were hidden by leaves again…. The sole tiny waterfall of the river and its rapids were still quite lazy and easily navigable.

Marshall sighed. "…come on, Jack. Talk to me. It's hard… I know. But just talk to me here. Anything, just say anything."

"The Cubone… they just went on like nothing happened," Jack said distantly. "Derrik's dead and they're making plans to trade things. Hatch even joked that he wanted Derrik's leg as a club—they didn't even _care_! They're… they're… heartless!"

"Jack…" Marshall started, "The Cubone aren't… they don't see things the way we do." Marshall looked back into the forest for a second. "They don't see Derrik—to him, his spirit had left his body. That's what is important to them, the spirit in the hearts of all Pokemon. Without a spirit, without a soul… there's nothing. To them, they just saw… they just saw what a Bibarel sees in a tree. A… resource."

Jack coughed violently.

Marshall nodded. "…try this then; their Tribe has a ritual that helps the soul pass on to… well, Arceus' Fields I guess. In order to even move the body, Shell had to perform that ritual. What I'm getting to is that they honor _life_—the soul. Not death, Jack. They… just don't know how we see things. Maybe Shell knows a little bit but…" He hesitated again, "I… don't know how much your Dad has talked to you about this… but I hope it helps. You don't have to believe what they believe in. I certainly don't. But… it helps sometimes."

"…did Marowak tell you all this?"

Marshall nodded, "A long time ago… …it's something… I'll tell you when you're older, okay? I learned a lot from that Marowak, he'll do the Cubone right. We all learned a lot from each other actually…" He cleared his throat, "Besides, we're almost there."

Marshall paused and sighed, "…can you do me a favor? Knowing the Marowak Tribe, they're running the things the exactly how they did when I last saw Marowak. Despite… what happened back then, there's still probably only three Marowak keeping track of every single Hatchling, that Marowak being one of them. …so… could you keep an eye on Shell? The other one too, if you ever see him. I realize they might not like it, but you only have to… just make a note when you see them. That they're doing fine. Consider this your first mission from me, hmm? I'll check in with you on the weekends you and your dad bring all that stuff to market."

Marshall slowly smiled as he felt Jack slowly come back out of his shell, but his voice was still tired and lost, "Yes, Marshall-sir."

"Thanks."

The two made their way up the rest of the river in silence.

* * *

Joshua stopped, closing his eyes long enough to rub his throat before he looked over to Cubone. She sat against the wall across from him, idly spinning the fur from the Buizel tails while she looked through Joshua.

He cleared his throat, more of a cough than the fake ones he was adding into the story. Cubone flinched and blinked into focus.

"Do you have any water?" Joshua asked. Cubone thumbed to the trickle down the wall. "Water that does not taste like soot." Cubone pointed to the door. Joshua laughed, "Water that does not fall from the sky." Cubone shrugged and stood up, heading towards her cubby holes. "Thank you. The parts of the story with Marshall… he rambles often and his pacing of words is a bit odd. Well, for a Dewott at least. Marshtomps always have that accent." He looked back toward her, "My apologies if a fair deal of this story is somewhat unnecessary for you. While I don't tell it often as often as the half of the story after Bluecreek, most are completely unaware of your Tribe and more-or-less in need of a general refresher on Mystery Dungeons to clear up misconcept…." He faded off as Cubone pulled out a large, crude wooden bowl and trekked towards the mouth of the cave with it.

"If it's part of the story it's part of the story," She said as she faded into the darkness, calling back. "I didn't know anything about Dungeons so whatever." She reappeared and noticed Joshua's raised eyebrow. "Why do I need to store water when it either falls just outside, or runs a little farther?" She scoffed. "Give it five minutes, it'll be full. If I can carry it back is another question. If you want it, you go get it."

She sat down back in her spot, "So, basically, all that took place on the hill just over there?" She thumbed through the wall behind her. She frowned slightly and folded her arms, "…_that's_ why that tree always felt weird. Huh." Cubone shook her head. "But basically everything's the same except for way more trees, this entire hill isn't soot, that dam is still holding, and there's a _bridge_ and a _caretaker_? What exactly does a caretaker do?"

"Well, Jack's father was to mainly keep the river safe and flowing at a steady rate with help from the Bibarels. He's also to keep tabs on the local wilds and keep the Elmsgrove Police, and Guild, informed on their overall state—"

"So that Luxray and Shinx? Why didn't they just shock the river—okay, Marshtomp are Earth-blessed, but they could have fried the Squirtle." She was genuinely frustrated. "Luxray love Squirtle soup."

"…I take it there are local Squirtle you have qualms with."

She scoffed, "Two wilds, and their Wartortle brother. Any time I go upriver they like to mess with me. And they're _smart_ for wilds! They, like, build traps and bait them."

Joshua blinked, "…are you sure they're wild?"

"They set them off themselves—they're smart, but they're too stupid to _not_ go after the bait they just set."

"So where do you—"

"Who do you think untangles them from the mess?" She scowled, "I'm staking Zigzagoon to item-raid their dens and suddenly one of the Squirtles show up and pretty much drags me halfway up the river because the other Squirtle was hanging from the foot by a snare trap and none of them can cut the vine—_I don't know where they get it_. I keep taking it with me, but they just keep finding more and more stuff to get themselves stuck in. You help them once—once, and then they keep dragging you all the way to the same spot. And then they water-blast you once you're done. If you don't, they water-blast you until you do. I'm pretty sure I'm getting used to it but I can't do anything because the Spirits are against me, nevermind the numbers."

She scowled and sat back, fidgeting with the Buizel tails again.

Joshua rubbed his whiskers, pulling the last of the water off of it and straightening it out. "Well… isn't that interesting," He finally said. "I suppose that's what Marshall meant by the wilds here being adorable…."

Cubone growled and glared, "Okay. Summary so far. Someone gets killed and, everyone's teary about it. _Waaaaah._ Sad. …tch." She leaned forward, "And the Exile is the one with the Shell and the Lairon bone—lucky Hatch. There's a Scarmory I've been eyeing for the last few months. Can't figure out where the nest is, though…." She faded off. "That Maro—do you know what kind his club is?"

"Coincidentally enough, Scarmory. A large influence of why Shell had chosen to wield the Lairon bone."

Cubone laughed, beaming, "_Oh_, I know which one that is then."

"He's still alive?" Joshua blinked, a grin slowly spreading on his muzzle.

"Sorta," Cubone shrugged. "He's insane. Crippled. Can't go anywhere." Joshua's smile faded. "Or at least he was when I was a yearling. Who knows if he's still alive. Honestly… not sure why the Spirits haven't taken him yet."

"Well. Exiles are banished for twenty-three years," Joshua said, eyes reverting to their solemn stance. "That Marowak swore he'd stand there to welcome the Exile back. …considering he was the oldest of the Marowak instructing the Hatchlings… that is one _old_ Marowak. But… returning to the caretaker and his duties for a moment… on my way here I had an encounter with a few wilds. Now… it might have been the storm, but are they usually so—"

"Everyone wants a hug with teeth, handshake with claws, pat on the back with blades. There was a fire that basically burnt a fourth of the Rez down. Wilds flee and wilds try to find new homes. Except wilds here have homes already and they don't want the crowd. So they're all not happy. Just go walking through the forest covered in Fearow feathers; they'll leave you alone after that."

"How did you…?"

"Our clubs may be blessed by Earth-Spirits, but very big rocks are _rocks_." Joshua blinked. Cubone scowled and shook her head. "…okay. You know how Fearows like building their nests on cliffs?" She drew an upside-down 'L' in the air and held her left hand half-way up. "Well, what you do is you go to the top of the cliff," She held her other hand at the top of the cliff. "Find the biggest boulder you can find, and push it over the side when it's sleeping and, _neeerrrrrowwwww_…. _wham! _With luck, it'll bounce down to the bottom."

Joshua blinked.

"Alternatively, you trick a Luxray to fry one—that one's a bit more fun because they won't chase you— well _me_, they'd love to have a bite at you. They won't chase me if they know I'm a Cubone so I pretend I'm a Buizel," She pointed to her cloak, "lead them to the nest and anger the big birdie. I then take off the thing and hide. The Fearow thinks the Luxray ticked it off and tries to defend its nest, and the Luxray sees the Fearow and is like, well, easy food. Zap. And I can chase it away because I've been terrorizing their entire little pride for years now and they want absolutely nothing to do with me."

"...terrorizing?"

"I go through the plains a lot and Shinx, being Spark-blessed, think everything turns into dinner if they cry enough Spark at something. I am a _Cubone_. It doesn't exactly _work_. Not sure which are smarter, those that keep trying to just Spark-strike me, or the ones that try to bite me and I just whack 'em. Eventually, they left me alone."

Joshua stood up, "Here I was hoping since I had the type advantage—sorry, since the Spirits were on my side, I wouldn't have to worry about you clubbing me in my sleep. But you probably have a way to get around that, don't you?" Cubone sniggered. "…I am going to get the water."

Cubone slowly erupted into genuine laughter, teetering over falling onto the ground.

The Dewott wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Understandings

five

Understandings

Joshua returned with both him and the water bowl full of water. He half stumbled when he entered the chamber.

"I was getting worried there," Cubone said glancing up from the Delibird egg she balanced in her lap, an ear against the side. She tapped it here and there. "…you can put it over there, ya know?"

"Where did you get that?"

"From a Delibird."

"I see that it's a Delibird egg," Joshua shook his head, putting the water bowl down over by the storage cubbyholes. "Where exactly is the Delibird that laid it?"

"Bottommost on the right."

The Dewott blinked, "…as in…?" he pointed to the largest of the cubbyholes, its bottom a few inches off the ground and the only one with the door on an actual makeshift hinge. Cubone nodded. Joshua blinked again, then slowly knelt down, tapped his claws on the rock once, and slowly opened the cubbyhole door.

The large, red and white bird inside shrieked in protest, hooked its wing through a handle on the inside of the door, and slammed it closed.

Joshua blinked. Then slowly looking back to Cubone, "…what."

"I can't get rid of it!" Cubone tossed up her hands, "It's been in there for _months_. I kick it out, over and over and over again—knocked it out even. Over and over and over again and tossed it out for the Rattata, but it just keeps waddling back in. I club it, take it out again, and it waddles back in. One time, I literally marched it out to the Luxray Pride and tossed it into the middle of them. Took me an hour to lug it out there and it walks in, about five minutes later, completely fine! And it just _sits there_. Has its own little nest and everything."

Joshua blinked again, then turned back to the cubbyhole. He pulled at the door again, the Delibird squawked and slammed it closed. Back to Cubone, "The Marowak know about it?"

"Know about it? The week that thing showed up I saw more Marowak than I've seen in a _year_. They basically took it back with them one day, and it waddled right back in there the next. They _gave up _on trying to get rid of it—and that says something! They just gave me that door so I don't have to look at it. Usually, I shove something in front of it overnight and let it go out in the morning. The only reason I haven't eaten it yet is because it lays _this_ every few days." She pointed to the egg she was resting her head on. "I can eat one of these things and pretty much be set. Or, lay them out for Arboks and be set for the week." She scoffed. "There aren't _supposed _to be any Delibirds in the Reservation—I didn't even know what it was until the Marowaks came—"

Joshua pulled at the door again—the Delibird slammed it closed. Open, closed, open, closed, open! Closed!

"I thought it was just everyone exaggerating, but the wilds here are truly something else," Joshua said. Open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. "Even my own exaggerations are an understatement." Open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. He tugged, it was holding onto the handle.

"It only does that because… it just _does_ it. I put the door on wrong—that handle's supposed to be on our side, and it fiddled with it for the rest of the week and realized how it can close it on me. It took me ages to figure out how to get the eggs out without getting my hand slammed in there."

Open, closed, open, closed, open-closed, open—

"_Ha!_" Joshua shouted, sticking a claw in the Delibird's face, the bird's eyes going cross. "Gotch—" It slammed the door on his arm. He sighed and pulled his arm out, the door slammed closed again. He looked back to Cubone, she was biting her lip, sniggering again. "Almost had it." He kicked the door. It thumped back.

"Listen, I hate that thing—I'm just glad it sleeps all of the time." She sighed and tapped the egg a few more times. "Just take one of the rocks from the pile and wedge it in there and _forget_ about it. …do you know an _easy_ way to cook these things? One that doesn't involve me being way too close to the fire to turn it every five minutes?"

Joshua looked at the rock he had set aside to wedge against the door later, large, smooth, flat, mostly free of the soot, concave. He picked it up and, facing the rock slide, and blasted a small jet of water over it and his arms. Lugging it back to the fire, he sat the thing directly on top. After checking the now dry fur on his arms, "Let that heat up, then we'll fry the egg on it."

Cubone tilted her head at the rock, "Huh…" she glanced to Joshua, "I tried sitting the egg on the embers before."

"How did that go?"

"Not as well as I hoped."

"Hmm," Joshua sat back down. "Well then… shall I continue?"

* * *

It was slightly more difficult for Jack to keep his promise to Marshall than he thought it would. To start, his family lived downstream from the river crossing, more towards the town so he and his brother could attend the school there. It was a few minutes swim up the river to where he could see Shell's hill, not that far nor that that difficult under normal circumstances.

However, Derrik's murder had set this half of the Reservation in a small panic. Though there were not many families who choose to live in nature and not in town for various reasons, there were _enough_ living here that any of them _not_ seeing or hearing anything terrified everyone more than the actual murder did. None even saw Shell move Derrik either, Jack's family included. Which made it all the more disturbing as Jack's father was inspecting the bridge's foundation that day with an Elmgrove villager, just a short distance away from that tree, as I'm sure you know.

No one saw a thing, and they had only the word of a Cubone Hatchling to place the time, and the wounds of an Umbreon to clear his name. If anyone had accused Shell at that time, no one said anything out loud.

After a sleepless night, Jack's family moved in temporarily with the Bibarels at their Dam while his parents secured their den. His mother still ferried them to school in Elmgrove every day, now accompanied by the Bidoof boys, and, after three weeks or so, Jack resumed to join his father on their weekend trips to the market.

One day, on their long trip back up the river to the dam after a particularly profitable day of bartering….

"Dad…?" Jack spoke up suddenly, stretching out on his father's back. "…can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," his father said happily, "What is it today? Why the sun moves across the sky? Why the moon hides herself every so often only to show her beautiful face again? The square root of one thousand, seven hundred sixty-four? The airspeed velocity of an unladen Swellow?"

"…why don't the Cubone Hatchlings have names?"

"_Oh, here we go…."_

* * *

"Can we skip this?" Cubone asked. "I mean, really. Is this an important part of the story?"

"Well," Joshua tilted his head in thought, "The few times I told this half of the story, everyone had the same question by this point. But then again, in your case…."

"Yeah," She scoffed. "I _know_ why we don't have names. What I want to know is why _they_ think it's a taboo to tell us theirs? Oh wait, it's so we don't get the idea to name ourselves." She scowled and stormed off to get more wood for the fire. "I wonder who started that—oh, wait. The Marowak."

"Actually, no," Joshua said—Cubone double-taked. "Marshall started that on accident, a misunderstanding on his part from when he and that Marowak journeyed together years ago. The Marowak, both the one he journeyed with and all others, merely didn't correct him because they thought Marshall was being courteous. They just let the misunderstanding grow."

"It's _annoying_, that's what that is," Cubone growled. "When Shell got exiled, why the heck didn't he fix that? I would!"

"He actually…." He cut himself off. Then shook his head. "He did. Well, tried," Joshua shrugged. "It was a well-ingrained notion in the surrounding area…." He faded off and frowned. Eyes distant for several minutes. Cubone shifted the coals of the fire with one of the sticks, then tossed them into the fire.

Joshua spoke up as she sat back down next to the egg, "I would like to say that you should be aware of how other Pokemon understand your tribe—misunderstanding it, yes. But _how_ they misunderstand it. …granted, Jack's father had been informed directly from the council, but then he's still drawing his own ideals into the les—"

"Just _get on with it_," Cubone groaned, "You're going to spend more time mumbling about whether or not to say it than just saying it—I can ignore you until we get past it. Why don't we have names. His father's answer is…?"

Joshua nodded slowly.

His father's soft eyes faded slightly, "…that's a very interesting question, Jack. Why do you ask it?"

"Well… back when… -Marshall told me that the Cubone don't have names. …he also told me not to tell them mine. …why? And why don't they like being around anyone else?"

The Blastoise sighed, "Jack… …with what is happening these days, I suppose I should tell you and your brother this now. The Marowak Tribe here has—

" '_An ancient tradition of testing our children to survive in the world. The Marowak who will be your instructors have also gone through these trials. As have the Marowak that had instructed them, as had the Marowak that had instructed them, as had the Marowak that had instructed them. For as long as this Tribe has been blessed by the Spirits, we send you, our children, out unto the world to seek their favor. To understand and learn their ways. And it is not until you have seen the Spirits themselves face-to-face and are ready to be a true brother, a true sister, to this family. _

" '_Whereunto the skull you wear is not merely an empty vessel, but a conduit to our ancestors before, and our descendants after, and the club you wield listens to the Spirits and bends them to your will….' …it actually sounds kinda magical when they say it that way, doesn't it?" Cubone scoffed and rolled her eyes._

_After a long hesitation from Joshua:_

"All by themselves?" Jack butted in, "But… two of them live right next to each other… I think."

"If they aid each other, they receive various punishments… sometimes harsh, sometimes not. But they are put in pairs to compete with each other, though it appears our local pair have reached an agreement of sorts to prevent it… And a Marowak comes every week to check up on them and train them. …but Jack, in any other Pokemon aid them, if they're not outright exiled… they receive the worst punishment a Cubone could have."

"What?"

_Joshua paused for a second, looking at Cubone. She was fidgeting with the Buizel tails again._

"They have their skulls taken away from them, Jack." _Joshua noticed Cubone half-mouthed along, half a beat behind him_. "Their skull is a status symbol to them—it shows their strength, their skill… sometimes even their nature. Their skull their final Skull, their greatest accomplishment—it's to prove to their worth to their Tribe. It's to earn a name."

_Cubone froze. She shifted her jaw, "You don't need to tell me this part. You don't need to tell me how much having a name means to us." Anger was rising in her voice. "You don't need to tell us… how much we __dream__ of being called something other than Hatchling or Hatch or Cubone. How… that one day, that those meaningless words make going through this hell worth it. But-but if we don't make it… if we don't…."_

_She shook her head. "Skip this. Skip all of this. There's a point to this scene—there's always a message for each individual part of the story. Get to it already!"_

_Joshua swallowed, but nodded._

"…never will you see a sadder sight than an exiled Cubone…."

_Joshua cleared his throat._

"Jack… I realize this might be hard for you—I certainly have seen the little Cubone myself. Jack," His father stopped and looked over his shoulder, "Come here and look me in the eye," Jack did so. "Promise me you'll never interfere with the Cubone's routines. No matter what happens to him, you ignore him. Do not help him, do not aid him in any fashion. Do not talk to him if you can help it. And, above all, _never_ give him a name. Even nicknames, don't."

"….why can't—?"

"Jack, promise me by your shell that you'll leave the Cubone alone. Both of them. All of them. No—don't nod. Tell me."

Jack had never seen his father's eyes so cold. So serious.

"Dad… I promise."

"He will thank you for it, Jack," the Blastoise said, face melting into a warm smile. "Though he might not show it. …well… Mum and Samm and the Bibarels are waiting for us. Hold on Jackie!" Jack barely had enough time to grab onto his father's shell before they shot up the ri—

* * *

Joshua jumped as a thunderbolt dropped just outside. Rolling his shoulders, he slowly settled back down. He folding his legs again, taking one of his scalchops and held it between his hands, rubbing it. Slowly, he looked back over to Cubone, she was staring at the floor, the two Buizel tails wrapped around her folded arms, one pal idly petting the fin on one of the arm-gloves of the Buizel fur, much like he was rubbing his shell.

"Can I ask you a question?" Joshua said carefully. He took her shrug as a yes. "This has been bothering me for a while, why didn't you leave the arms of the Buizel with the rest of the hide and have a full coat instead of a cloak?"

She shrugged aimlessly, "Accident. Like 'em better this way, though. Gets cold in here."

"…do you wish you were a Buizel and not a Cubone?" She didn't answer. Joshua laughed silently, "Sometimes I wish I was… well, something that doesn't turn extra-crispy when lightning hits them. I kept changing my mind and now…. Everyone wants to be something else at some point in their lives."

"…every Cubone wishes they were something else too. But we can't really change what we are…." She sighed and leaned her head into the tails where they went over her shoulder. "…they're soft. That's… they're just soft."

Joshua sat back a little bit, subtly glancing around at the rock, stone, gravel…. The soot worn in by time….

She looked at him with an eye, "Can we crack this egg now? It's a _stupid_ bird, but it'll realize I took it eventually and when it does I'll have to hit it on the head again. Now, I don't want to go out there to toss it in the river, and neither do you. Besides, it'll probably be back in here before we get back."

Joshua shook his head, but laughed silently, "Sure. Help me maneuver the rock over to one side and I'll show you how to make an omelet."

"What's a nomelet?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

"_Exactly_."


	6. Banter

six

Banter

While that's cooking, this part is short. You'll like it.

It was a full two months before Jack and his family finally returned to their den, now dug deeper into the riverbank and only accessible by a long underwater tunnel. Not to mention a door they somehow managed to get in there. …don't ask how. I didn't.

By then, the hysteria in the area was gone, but so was many of the Pokemon who lived there. Sure, the wilds still roamed the forests and planes, but nearly all of Jack's and Samm's friends had moved to Elmgrove. Everyone, except Zoey the Zigzagoon.

"So Marsh wanted ya to follow Shelly, right?" Zoey asked—

"_Do you __really__ have to use that accent? 'goons are bad enough."_

Zoey asked out of nowhere on their way back from town a few days after Jack had gotten back home. Jack faltered in the water, trying to look back at the small mass of fur on his shell.

"…I promised Dad that I wouldn't bother him," he said. "If we talk to him, he might get exiled.

Zoey scoffed, "We don't have to _talk_ to him, yeah—"

"_Spirits, you're going to keep doing that voice…."_

"Yeah, we can just watch him, ya know? That's what Marsh wanted ya ta do, right? Keep an eye on 'im."

"He'll see us."

Zoey stuck her tongue out at her reflection in the river, "So? He used to see us every day, remember? Every day. He walks down that hill of his. If he goes across the bridge, he avoids us. If he doesn't go across the bridge, he glares at us and goes the other way. …Jack, it's just the two of us in here. Saura, Teddie and his sis, Donn, Taylor… all their families moved to Elmgrove. Even Samm stays in town more than here. You know I can't _stand_ the place."

"We can't be friends with him, Zoey."

"I don't _want_ to be friends with him—I want to mess with him. Here's the game—"

"_Yep, definitely a Zigzagoon."_

"Nonono, it's nothing. Really. We watch him. Right? We watch him, and then we guess where he's gonna go. We guess where he's gonna go and what he's gonna drag back this time. Not… literally—hopefully not literally. Then we go to where he's gonna go and the winner is the one who got it right."

"_That's a stupid idea_."

"That's a stupid idea."

"_I'm starting to like Jack_."

"Com'on, _Jaaaack!_" Zoey sighed, trailing her tail in the water. "There's only so much only the two of us can do. Tag? Doesn't work. Hide-n-seek? Nope. Messing with the wild Pokemon is just gonna get _old_. Fast! …we're not going to do anything that'll hurt him. Just some fun. _Fun_. Like we had before all… that. Come on, Jack! You don't really play with us anymore and you're my only friend left in here so…."

Jack sighed and paddled over to the riverbank, "I promised my Dad I wouldn't bother him."

"We're not going to _bother_ him," Zoey pressured, jumping off Jack's shell. "Here—whenever he catches us, we'll stop for a few days and whoever gets caught loses. We get caught three times and we… _go and play with everyone in Elmgrove_…" She growled that last bit. "…Jack… please? I can't stand being in town…."

"_Okay. Making the Zigzagoon puppy eyes is one step too far."_

Jack sighed, "Fine…. Tomorrow, by the bridge. We'll just watch him lug his bone across the bridge for a few days."

Zoey tilted her head, "Haven't you seen him yet?"

"Sometimes when Mom was ferrying us up and down the river," he shrugged. "But not recently." The way Zoey's eyes lit up slightly unnerved Jack.

"_The way __your__ eyes are lighting up unnerved Jack. You're having way too much fun with this now."_

Jack hesitated, "…let me guess, he's wearing a Wartortle skull now?"

"Tomorrow, by the bridge!" Zoey barked happily, then took off.

Jack sighed harshly into the water and continued home.

_Cubone rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Zoey's excitability is noted. Can you __please__ go back to the… what __are__ you again?"_

I am a Dewott, none of my kind usually come this far west, though I'm not sure why. I evolved from an Oshawott, and I will evolve into a Samurott.

"…_and your name is Joshua."_

Yes. Before I evolved, you could say I was a Joshawott.

"…_you were __waiting__ for that one, weren't you?"_

But you are laughing.


	7. Stranger to Gratitude

seven

Stranger to Gratitude

Cubone tilted her head and pointed to the mass of gelatinous yellow on the rock, "…nom-let?"

Joshua sighed, rubbing his ear, "Not exactly. I'm not entirely sure what an omelet is myself—it pops up later in the story. Far later—after Shell is exiled. But I never heard how it was made. I just know its eggs cooked over a fire. There's something about cheese too, but I thought we could get away without it."

"What is sheese?"

"It's made from milk."

"What's milk?"

Joshua looked down at her, then blinked when he realized she was serious. "…what happened to the wild Miltanks here?"

"Stop doing that—_what_ is a Miltanks?" Joshua's jaw slowly dropped. "Is Milk a Pokemon? Or do you make milk from Miltanks, and then use that milk to make sheeze? Stop telling me things I don't know to answer things I _don't know_!"

Joshua looked away, "Miltank is a Pokemon. Milk is…." he shook his head. "I don't… it… it's not important right now. I'm sorry. I… don't think I can tell you. It's never a question I was asked." Cubone scowled and moved to grab a glob of the scrambled egg—Joshua swatted her hand and frowned at her. "That's hot."

"Well, _how_ do I eat it then if you won't let me grab it?" She narrowed her eyes at him as he wandered over to his bag off in the corner. "Do I summon Spirits of the Mind and use them to carry the nomlet?"

Joshua's eyes went distant for a second, "Mind Spirits—ah, Psychic." He shrugged and dug through a side-pocket, glancing over his shoulder to Cubone's confused glare. "Pokemon outside the Reservation… actually, your Tribe is the only one to call types Spirits. I mean, what you call Spark, we call Electric. Earth, Ground, Iron, Steel. Don't get me wrong, I actually quite like your Tribe's view on the matter. Pokemon blessed by sacred beings to borrow their power. It give some nice meaning to what's become a… a bit of a caste system in parts of Arcia."

"What. Is. A. Caste-System. Is it made from sheeze and nomlets?"

"_Ch_-eeze. Cheese. And no. What I mean is, in a few parts of Arcia, Pokemon are segregated by type… by what Spirits are favor them, if you will. And, due to that… in such areas there's… _friction_ between different types." He shook his head. "From what I understand, it started as a way to make sure there wasn't any accidents between, say, Fire and Water types, but it deteriorated over the generations. …you know, in some aspects, your Tribe is more forward thinking than those who keep the caste system running—you guys respect each Spirit for their own values and their shortcomings. Every spirit is balanced against the other in some fashion—_Ah!_ Found it!"

He pulled out a small clam—a schalchop. He smiled as he looked it over.

"My old scalchop, from back when I was a Joshawott." He grabbed one of the ones off his thigh and held it up for a quick comparison; his old shell was about half the size of the larger. "…can't believe it was this small." He looked over to Cubone, "Then again, I was about your height when I last used it."

Cubone frowned and held her hand up to her height beside her. With her other, she pointed to him, then to her hand.

Joshua laughed, "A few inches taller, but yes, I was a little as you are at one point. Hey, Marowak are still taller than I am so one day you'll be looking down to me. …then again, when I evolve I'll probably win out again." He half-sighed, half-groaned, then shook his head and walked back over to her.

"Here," Joshua kneeled down and held the small clam out to her. "I'm not in need of it any longer, it's too small for most of my tactics and… I feel like I need to repay you somehow for your hospitality. You can always say you found it." He followed Cubone's frowning stair down to the scalchop and grimaced. "…you're right, it's been in that bag a bit too long. One moment."

He took a quick few steps towards the entrance and blasted it with a high-pressure deluge of a water gun. After a few spot-cleaning sprays, he sat back down next to the Cubone, "Here."

Her grimace had dropped from unwary to incredulous.

Joshua looked back to the dripping wet clamshell. He laughed, "_Right_. I did not think that through, I'm sorry." By the time he looked back up, she had bluntly grabbed a glob of egg and was over exaggerating the chewing, all with a flat glare.

Joshua placed the scalchop on a clear section of the rock and grabbed his own. Clumsily scooping up a few bits on it, he raised it in a sort of thanks and ate.

He coughed, eyes bulging slightly—Cubone laughed at him.

"That's… certainly a different taste from most things I've eaten," He said after a minute. He sniffed the eggs again, then sneezed off to the side.

"It's good, better than when I cook it."

Dewott looked fearfully off to the side, "Cubone cooking _was_ always mentioned to be a hazard…."

"Well, they never taught us anything on it," Cubone shrugged grabbed another glob and ate, looking into the fire again. "We make things up as we go along. Like everything else we do."

Slowly, the Dewott nodded, grimacing at every bite.

* * *

**Nomlet.**


	8. Rivalry

eight

Rivalry

Jack paddled up the river, alone, back up towards the Bibarels' Dam with a satchel of berries across the red of his shell. The river ran slow and cold; the Bibarels probably opened up the dam slightly to prevent the river from running too low. Here they were up-in-arms about the dam breaking—

"_'What does that mean?"_

…here they were fighting to keep the dam from breaking about three months ago only to fall into a dry spell. It didn't help that the Castform in town had been running, well, floating. Castforms don't actually have legs, do they?

"_I don't know what a Castform is."_

Running, for all intents and purposes, around town with the news of the storm of the century was upon them, but that was two weeks ago.

Clara was never right anyway—this was the driest blizzard Jack had ever seen.

"_How long ago was this again?"_

Little more than twenty-seven years. So she's right about the storm of the century, just a quarter-century too early and a little too warm.

"_Don't worry about the warm..."_

Jack crawled out of the river as he reached the rapids, the low water only made them look slightly more pathetic than usual. Still, he didn't want the berries to get soaked.

His eyes were on the river as he walked along.

He sighed, half-groaning. From their spot near the bridge, the two of them—him and Zoey—hadn't seen Shell in all of the month they looked for him. The Hatchling had adjusted his schedule—getting up too early in the morning for the two to catch him going out, and neither of them were sure when he returned to his den. Or if he even did on some nights.

Already, Zoey was plotting on moving their lookout towards the cave. She wanted to lurk after the other one, but Jack reminded her of his promises to Marshall and his father. If only to leave Hatch alone.

"Why does he want me to keep an eye on him anyway?" Jack muttered out loud to himself. "I'm just a Squirtle. Shell is a Cubone with _actual_ training. He doesn't _need_ anyone to look to look after him."

Reaching the small waterfall, flowing at about half the power and none of the roar, he hopped up the stairs dug out of the shot cliff next to it.

…you look like you want to say something.

"…_only that there's no waterfall anywhere along that river so I'm not sure where this is taking place."_

Upriver.

"_Yeah. Thanks for clarifying that."_

Jack continued, still mumbling, "Marshall wants me to look after him, Dad wants me to stay away from him, Zoey wants to poke him with a stick." He shook his head. "Yes, we're _trying_ to watch him. But _really_. Why are we doing this? We should just go with Samm and play in town. But no. Zoey doesn't like walls less than fifteen feet apart."

Passing the upper rapids, looking just as pathetic as the ones below, he dropped back down on all fours and wandered back into the stream again.

Jack continued his mumbling rant, "Mum thinks I'm sad because everyone is gone and is just sending me up with berries as an excuse for the Bidoof Brothers to have someone to play with. Samm and I shared a room with them for _two months_—we can't stand them anymore, Mum! You know this! …maybe that's why Samm stays in town. Smart kid."

A tree branch snapped off in the forest somewhere—he snapped awake.

He glanced around in half-panic, sinking low in the water despite his cargo—the forest on the right had a few Caterpie and a Weedle crawling up trees and munching on leaves. A Slowpoke dimly glanced up as it drank from the river, half-registering Jack in the way that all Slowpoke do before returning to the water. On the right, the trees tinned out. Off in the distance, a grazing Stantler glanced around and slowly ambled away from…

…there are still Stantler around here, yes?

"_A few. But there's been some weird ones that change with the seasons—like their antlers grow leaves in the spring, and they fall off in autumn! And they __hurt!__ I-I think the Tree-Spirits took pity on them one day._"

Sawsbuck. Interesting.

"_You mean they're not weird Stantler?"_

No, they're from the part of Arcia I am from. Certainly a long ways… anyway.

Seeing nothing, Jack sighed, blowing bubbles in the water.

"I know you're there, Hatch."

Jack choked, then scampered to the right shore—it was Shell's voice.

Crawling out next to the Slowpoke as it vaguely registered Jack again, Jack spotted a Cubone on the other shore, looking over the trees on that side of the river. It took him a second to recognize the Hatchling.

Shell was wearing a different eggshell. His last one was a solid white, this one had a black streak over the left eyehole—

"_Ha-ha, he messed up! Left it over the fire too long. …it's not an __actual__ shell, you know that, right?"_

…this one also sported holed for his triangular ears to poke out of—yes, he really did this. I am aware of how—let's call it unorthodox and move on.

His Lairon bone didn't seem to be crushing him under its weight anymore, readying it with just his right hand. It seemed smoother, lighter, and the shine seemed to have been forced to fade.

His left paw was at his left hip, where his secondary club was holstered beside a new Furret-hide pack. Both were on a sort of belt and supported by a strap running across his chest from his left shoulder. The other club was bone—regular bone like the one you use. Granted, it was slightly shorter than what it should have been.

Shell was also wearing armor—it took a minute for Jack to realize it was the plates of a Lairon. Their shine was dulled and the plates themselves painted a brown to match the Cubone's scales. He had woven them into a sort of harness using the same material as his belt and shoulder strap. One plate per shoulder, and a very loose configuration resembling a sleeve down his right arm, ending in a handless gauntlet.

Not only did it look nonfunctional, it wasn't exactly the prettiest thing either.

….you understood all that, right?

"_Lucky. Hatch. I can't believe he actually did it and got away with it. …well, you know._"

"Hatch," Shell called out again. "You are the worst ambusher I've ever seen."

Shell spun on his heel and snapped up his metal club over his face—a white blur streaked out of the trees, rebounding off it.

"The worst."

The blur disappeared back into the tree it came from and another Cubone dropped out of it. Far, far more like an average Hatchling than Shell, she wore a Luxio skull on her head, complete with fangs.

The new Cubone scoffed, her voice venomous. "You're really not the one to berate me, shell-face."

Shell narrowed his eyes for a second, then shook his head, shrugging, "I have four skulls back at my den. And, unlike you, I didn't bone-rush them when they were asleep."

"Liar," Luxia said quickly—

"Luxia, a title based on her skull," Jack clarified to himself as he half-hid behind the Slowpoke. "Not a name."

Luxia glared, "That's not true!"

Shell shrugged, "You're right. I have three and a half; the other half is in pieces. They're all a too small for me—they might fit you, however."

"…_okay. how many times have you told this part?"_

…thirty-four times, I think.

_Cubone blinked. "…and to how many Pokemon?_"

I lost count, some groups were small, others large, there was one of at least three hundred. That… was terrifying.

"_Okay. __Never__ say that part again. You have __no idea__ how… insulting that is."_

The Cubone and Marowak who heard this story thought it was funny.

"…_other Cubone….?"_

You… …do know that your tribe is not the only… you don't. Oh….

"_There are __other__ Cubone in—when were they exiled…? …when? …you __can__ tell me this, right!?"_

I don't think I need to.

"_But—!"_

Please… let me tell the story.

…

…thank you.

Luxia's eyes narrowed behind her skull, "Are words really the only weapon you have?"

"They're sharper than a club," Shell half-shrugged, shouldering his club and calmly walking towards her. "Much longer range and more accurate too. I understand the amount of effort you put into saying things and that you'd rather use _ugh's_ and _uhh's_ and I appreciate it. Really, I do. But if you don't want to use them, leave. Actual words I mean. Feel free to go back to grunts if you need to, I've been around you long enough to understand half of what you're saying."

Luxia slammed her club in Shell's path, eyes blazing, "I'm not letting a shell-face onto my territory."

Shell hopped over the club, sighing and rolling his eyes, "We don't _have_ territory, Hatch. We're just Hatchlings—a Squirtle can take us out with no problem." Jack shrunk into his shell. "And where would you and your territory be when it rains—"

He spun and snapped his left hand up—Luxia's swing blocked by his other club. Shell held the shorter bone in a reverse grip, the bone running down his arm.

Luxia sneered and pushed harder and Shell calmly took several steps back, letting her club fall to the ground. He slung his secondary back into its spot, "You might be the better hunter and the better fighter, but that's only when you're calm. When you get mad, you don't think. And when you don't think, even I can win. And right now, you're not thinking at all."

Luxia faked a swing. Shell flinched, snapping his main club in front of him.

He shrugged, "Hatch, remember when my arm was broken that first year? Remember what I did for all the sparring practices? I watched and I studied all of you. Not just on how to attack, but all of your tells. You, for example, hiss. Very, very quietly when you're hunting. I only heard you because I was listening for it. But when you're mad it gets a little bit louder and when it stops, you strike." His ears twitched. "Still hissing, Hatch. I'm actually trying to help you here." He held his free hand up, palm out. "Take a step back, take a deep breath, and try to think for once."

Much to Jack's surprise, Luxia actually let out a long huff, eyes closing. She took a few breaths and then, very calmly, "Hatch… our Marowak have a saying… act, and you will have dinner. Think," Her eyes open, blazing hotter than before, "And you'll _be_ dinner!"

She charged at him, screaming a battle cry, club high in the air.

Shell deflected the first swing, "Yeah I know," He casually sighed. He hopped left—not far enough, he stumbled. Luxia visibly hesitated, long enough for Shell to recover and look back, "But I thought you were on a diet?" She growled and swung for the legs, blocked. "I'm serious, that's why you scavenge all your bones right? Don't need the meat, just the bones." Dodge right—too slow! The shoulder of his armor had a glancing dent. "I understand. It's how I've been getting most of my stuff too."

He jumped backwards, minding the water and making an effort to stay away from it in between blocks. "Hatch? Hatch? I'm trying to make conversation here." She swung for his head—he deflected and kicked her away. "Come on, Hatch. You're just getting sloppier at this point—" He leaned right. "Look, I didn't even have to move on that one and we both know I _can't_ dodge. …come to think of it, what _are_ you doing here anyway? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were waiting for me."

Luxia knocked his parry to the side and spun, knocking him back with her tail. Shell wobbled, his own tail against the ground, propping him up as he forced airs back into his lungs. But his eyes were still calm. "…didn't realize you liked me that much. No, don't say anything. Come back here tomorrow and I'll bring a present—the perfect skull for you _tiny_ little head. You can thank me after the Trials."

Luxia backed away, fuming rapid breaths, claws digging into her club. "I am here for one reason and one reason only: to break your shell, _you pathetic excuse for a Hatchling!"_

Her voice dropped into a roar and she charged.

Shell froze, rooted in the spot as she sped towards him. Luxia's arm drew back and, with a large jump, threw her club.

Shell took two quick steps and spun, lobbing his club in the air and charged Luxia as she landed.

_CRACK_—the metal club snapped the bone club in two and their owners collided. Rolling once, Luxia kicked Shell off. Rolling to his own feet he swatted her claws away with his armored arm and whirled again, slamming his tail into her shoulder.

Luxia stumbled back, shaking her head. She froze for a second and sidestepped—Shell's bone hit the ground behind her, bouncing with a spine tingling thud and skidding to a stop.

Jack scowled.

The look of calm in Shell's eyes broke as Luxia took a step towards his club. He retreated one step back. Then another.

Luxia grinned, "You almost had me there. Anything smart to say now?"

"Your eyes look marvelous when you're…"

Luxia hopped back and seized Shell's club—it fell through her hand. She looked down and grabbed it again with a sturdier grip. Shell charged. He tackled her away from the club and let her roll away. He grabbed his secondary and threw it, knocking her off balance as she stood back up.

Shell caught it as he rushed again before Luxia recovered. He spun and brought it down on Luxia's skull.

She collapsed, her Luxio skull cracked. He stood there, shaking, panting.

It didn't take long for Luxia to get back up. She was furious, oh that was clear, but the fury dropped to horror when she felt the cracks on the skull.

Shell held his club up to her head, "…give me a reason that I shouldn't break your skull right now. Give me a reason that I don'twin this entire Test right now. A shell-head—the Hatch that no one thought would even survive the Trials, knocking out the top favorite." He nodded, "That's sure to make an impression. Even the Bone Warriors might notice me. What do you think?"

Luxia hissed lowly, but didn't move.

"Exactly," Shell bopped her on the nose, just harsh enough to give her whiplash, and walked away. He picked up his Lairon club and turned back to her. "Leave. Me. Alone. Stay away from me. From me _and_ my kills." He motioned upstream. "Go."

Luxia snorted and walked past him, not looking at him. The further away she got, the faster she ran. Faster and faster until she dropped to all fours in panic. Shell watched her every step, completely still.

The moment she had disappeared, he dropped his club, then collapsed onto his knees, eyes wide and frightened as he gulped in deep breaths. He shook terribly.

Jack took a step towards the river, but drew back.

Shell lolled his head back, almost like he was in a daze. He let out three short laughs, then collapsed onto his front, his shivering growing more and more violent.

The Squirtle found himself across the river before he realized it. He hesitated again, but bit his lip and walked towards the Cubone.

"H-hey? Are you okay—?"

Shell froze for a second and slowly looked at him. He relaxed and resumed panting.

"Yeah… you again," He said between breaths. "I keep… running into you… don't I? Haven't seen you… in a while… though."

"Yeah we went upstream for a month and—are you okay? That was… amazing?"

Shell laughed, "Sure… sure…." He huffed, then laughed again, this time louder. "I… can't believe that worked. I can't believe it worked! Spirits…" He pushed himself up, shaking his head. When he finally looked at Jack, his eyes were tired and empty. Empty… almost like Shell was more distraught by his victory than proud of himself.

"If she is ever, _ever_, after you. Talk. Keep talking. You're not supposed to talk when you're fighting, and that gets her mad. Do anything to get her mad. Don't stop talking. Keep her talking, get her angry, and you'll live. Stop for a second and…" He laughed, it was hollow. "And you're _gone_…. …then again, you're a Squirtle." He scoffed at himself, rolled his eyes, and looked away. "I'm still in. I'm still in. I beat her. Spirits… thank you…."

Jack bit his lip, glancing around awkwardly.

Shell shook his head, blinking harshly as he pulled himself up and walked to the river to drink from it, pale under his shell. He winced as he knelt down next to the water. He didn't react when Jack slowly sat down next to him, he just sat down fully and slowly collected himself.

The Cubone winced as he touched his side, "Also, don't show you much pain you're in." He hissed and dug into his pack for an Oran Berry. Taking a bite, he shivered again, "That was too close. That was too close."

"But you won," Jack said. "You chased her off—that was great!"

"Barely, Squirtle. _Barely_," Shell shook his head. "It just might not look like it. If she kept her grip on my club…" He shook his head and looked over at Jack, "Squirtle, you were there for all of that, so you heard me say that my arm was broken in my first year," He nodded to the scars over his right arm. "Using the club—any club— takes both hands…. I can't fight—you think I can but all that was yearling footwork. I can only plan and that's how I won this…." He sighed and rubbed his eyes through his skull.

…after another minute, "…Squirtle, I say this in the nicest way possible…. Go away. …please? The Marowak like to keep an eye on me. Knowing my luck, one'll see Hatch running away… so the faster you get back to whatever you were doing the better. You clearly weren't stalking me, you walked right by me without realizing it." He laughed again, this time sincere.

Jack smiled, "Yeah, I'm supposed to be on a delivery run for my…."

...you're not aware of the myth about Cubone's wearing their mother's skull, are you? It's a very, very old misconception about Cubone. Its origin no one knows. But still, that myth popped into Jack's mind. Granted, Shell wasn't wearing anything close to that but Jack fell a little awkward all the same.

"I gotta get back to it, yeah. I guess I'll see you around…?"

"Just don't follow me," Shell almost smiled. Jack almost frowned. Shell shrugged, "I don't need friends," He said plainly, eyeing the Squirtle for a reaction. Satisfied that Jack understood, he nodded. "Right." Then, more to himself as he looked behind them, "Where did Hatch's club fly off to—" he caught himself and glanced back to Jack. "Don't answer that. You…."

"I'm going away," Jack finished, half-imitating Shell's half-indifferent tone. That seemed to amuse the Cubone slightly. Jack slid into the water, "Uh, good luck finding… on you…." He faded off and tapped his head. Shell glared at him, but nodded a thanks. "Right. Sorry. Bye." The Squirtle paddled away quickly, more to make up for lost time than to run from Shell, though he felt the Cubone's eyes on his back.

Jack rounded the bend and started up the last fourth of the trek up to the dam. He was half-expecting a shout of victory from Shell after he lost sight of him. It never came.


	9. Bones To Pick

nine

Bones to Pick

"I've seen her around, yeah," Zoey nodded after Jack told her about the Cubone Shell fought yesterday. "Shelly finding her out ain't that remarkable—she's a terrible sneak and doesn't know when she's being followed. Probably too stuck up to realize someone's actually hunter _her_." She scoffed, "Anyway, she's been poking around our neck of the woods over the last week or so. I followed her back to her den—it's up near the big lake. She really must have a bone to pick with him if she comes all the way over here." She snickered and leapt up the tree trunk. "_Bone to pick_, that's good."

"Shell said she was the best fighter out of all of them," Jack said, pulling himself up on the lowest branch. "And pretty much said she's trying to knock him out of whatever competition or whatever. Apparently, if their skulls break, they auto-lose or something. …Shell's shell in his case."

"But he won, right?" Zoey looked down. "Wait, he told _you_?! You _talked_ with him!?"

"Not me—he was talking to her the entire fi-_iiiiiight_," He windmilled—you don't know what a windmill is. He spun his arms to keep his balance and grabbed the next branch. "…half of it was trash, but he complimented her a few times… I think he was trying to avoid the fight. But the only way he won was because he caught her off guard." He summed up the battle to her. "And then he just rushed her with his other club and cracked her skull—her Luxio one, I mean. She got a few hits in. He didn't show it during the fight, but he was hurting afterwards."

"But you _talked_ with him!"

Jack hoped up onto the next branch and sat down on it, scooting as close as he could to the trunk. The tree was past Shell's cave from the river, a hidden vantage point where they can see both the cave and the bridge at the same time. Apparently, Zoey can sometimes catch Hatch from the upper branches, but only barely. Jash shrugged, "Well, after she ran off, he was in shock that he actually won. I kinda went over and talked to him for a minute."

Zoey stamped her branch, "Well!?"

"Well, what? He didn't say much—just to go away."

"Jerk."

"He was trying to be nice about it, Zoey," Jack groaned. "He didn't say it right away. Said something about the Marowak keeping tabs on him and probably didn't want them to see us."

She scoffed, "So why didn't shell just _break_ the other Cu's skull? You said he said they lose when that happens, right? He could have gotten rid of her right there and then."

"…I didn't ask," Jack said, scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't think of it like that."

Zoey glared, "What did you think it was?"

Jack shrugged again, "I dunno, him showing that he's not like her?"

Zoey snorted, "Jack, he doesn't need to _tell_ her that. Perfect, I was right that he heads out closer to noon—look at him," She nodded towards the cave. Shell was at the mouth, stretching a few times before heading down the hill. He wasn't heading for the river today, more towards the plains and grasslands with everything Jack saw him yesterday with. The dent on the shoulder gleaming in the sun despite the efforts to get it out. "Does he look like a normal Cubone to you? I mean, come on!"

"Not like that, Zoey. You know what I mean."

"Uh-uh. Jack," Zoey leaned down, "Not counting Luxia and our other bonehead, I've tracked down about… three other Cubones. One's Luxio-face's partner up at the lake and the other two are closer towards the river's source, way, way past the Dam. All have their skulls. All have their clubs, one each. _None_ have armor. …okay, one has a bit of a rain coat but that doesn't count."

"Rain coat?"

"Buizel fur—dunno how he manage to pull it off." Zoey said it with actual curiosity, enough that Jack uneasily leaned away from her slightly, then snapped straight as he started to teeter again. "But _Jack_, they're all normal Cubone. Only two of them have packs to put stuff in, one being Buizel-boy. The others just lug everything around. Berries, wood, small items they find, Pokémon. …Shell and Hatch are probably the only ones doing something _different_! Something else other than the same things their Marowak did, which is probably what _their _Marowak did, so on."

Jack looked back out of the tree—Shell had gone off and they hadn't realized it. "Zoey, your point."

"You don't find this _interesting_?" Zoey scoffed. "My Dad told me that the Marowak are so dogmatic in their traditions that anyone who comes up with a new way of doing things is ignored until they drop them—completely. No food, no water, no acknowledgement of their presence whatsoever."

That got Jack's attention, "So… their Marowak is just letting them get away with it? …why isn't letting the others…." He drifted off as Zoey's grin widened.

"That's it, it's their Marowak—the others—I only saw two Marowak when I was trailing the other four Cubones. Neither of them is Shell and Hatch's Marowak. Everyone else seems to share Marowak, like they rotate or something. Not our two Cubones, they always get the same one."

"Oh, right. Marshall said that there were others…."

Zoey scoffed, "Do you really think that one parent can keep track of all the kids? No, they're all different ones. Shell's Marowak has a club with a silver sheen—almost like Shell's own. The other two have normal, dull bones. Different skulls too—one was a Tyranatar, I'm sure of it! Jack!" She started bouncing on her branch, "This is _cool!_ This is _exiting!_ A Marowak is breaking tradition and _getting away with it_!"

"…for now," Jack gloomed. "…so do you think Luxia was angry at Shell because he's breaking tradition?"

Zoey sat back down, "Don't ask me—how do we know the Cu's even know anything about their _own_ culture? They've been kicked out into the wild to fend for themselves and I can only guess that most of the time spent in their home was preparing for it. My guess is all the reinforcement they get is negative—don't do this. Don't do that. Bonk on the head for every cool, new, and tribe-changing idea they have. Bonk, bonk, bonk, and they're conditioned against Shell and Hatch and their ideas."

_Joshua paused for a second. Cubone was listening but her eyes lost in the fire._

"Yeah, good point," Jack nodded slowly, "…but… I think—"

"_Shh!_" Zoey flattened herself against the branch. Jack jumped, wobbled, and hung onto his.

He looked up at her, watching her ears twitch, "…what? I don't hear anything, what is it?"

She twitched, "Not hear, saw something." She looked down to Jack, scowling, "Someone with terrible sneaking skills."

"No…."

Zoey nodded, "Luxio-head." She motioned down towards the stream. Jack slowly looked back.

From under the bridge, another Cubone lurked. Its skull was clearly a small Arbok's, the fangs fully extended. It was slightly too large for the Cubone, but it seemed to stay in place.

Jack looked back at Zoey, "…you sure? I don't think I've seen this one before."

"It's her, she's a leftie. All of the others are right-handed, not counting our buddies." Well, the Cubone's right hand _was_ free.

"Shell mentioned they use both hands when they fight so—"

"But they always carry the thing in their right, she holds it in her left. 'sides, she likes things with _big_ fangs. What she'd do if there were Sharpedo or Granbull 'round here…."

"…different skull, different club," Jack muttered to himself. "Figures they all have extras… except Shell." He glanced up to Zoey, "What's she doing here? If she wanted revenge, she could just go after Shell."

"She might be afraid she'll lose again."

Luxia glanced around one more time before dashing out from under the bridge, booking it straight up the hill.

Jack shook his head, "Shell thought for sure he'd lose that fight—he was bluffing!"

"Yeah, but does she know that? I watched her for a day—it's obvious that she doesn't think things through. Probably just acts on impulses—she's going for his cave!"

"What?! Can she do that?"

Zoey scoffed and looked down, "Why are you asking me?! Most the stuff I know is from my Dad and all he knows is rumors! _Your_ dad probably knows more about them so what does _he_ say?!"

"I dunno, he doesn't say anything about them."

"Why don't you ask?"

"Because he made me promise not to bother them!"

Luxia skidded to a stop and flattened herself against the rocks at the top of the hill, slowly making her way towards the gap between the boulders a short distance away.

Zoey hopped down a branch, "Jack. The last time I saw her like this she was going into a den of wild Zigzagoons—you know me, klepto, right? Wilds are a hundred times worse, they take anything they can get their paws on. She's going to steal everything she can, and then _burn_ the rest and collapse the entry. She doesn't have a back, she can't take much. We have to stop her!"

Jack bit his lip and looked away, "We _can't_, Zoey. It would be—"

"There wasn't a single Zig that came out of that den."

"What?" Jack whirled back around; Zoey's eyes were filled with a cold, sad anger.

"One Water Gun, and she's down. Just one. She'll never know what hit her, and we'll be gone long before she gets back up."

"Hatch," Jack said. "We can't help directly, but if we get Hatch to stop her, he might cover for us."

"Fine, but we got to hurry—she just went in!" Zoey jumped down. Jack looked down and hesitated. "Come _on_, Jack! We don't have time for this! Just _jump!_ You'll be fine! Dah—I'm running ahead!"

And so she did, giving the hill a wide berth until Shell's cave and Luxia disappeared from view, then ran up the hill and quickly found the entry to the other Cubone's den, this one a little more than a hole under a boulder. Hatch was nowhere in sight, so she ran straight up the mouth of the cave.

"Hey! Hey! Anyone in there?!"

Nothing.

"Hey! Sh—the other Cubone here's getting robbed!"

"…what?"

Zoey spun and found the Cubone she was looking for, an armful of firewood in his hands and his clubs secured in loops on his Growlithe-furred rutsack.

"The other Cubone that lives in—the one with the shell! He's getting robbed!"

"So? Wilds raid our dens all the time—"

"By _another Cubone_!" Zoey sighed, exasperated. "That's, like, _wrong_ for you guys right?"

Hatch looked at her in thought for a second, then flung the firewood into his cave. It took a second longer for them to crash against rock than they should have.

He rubbed his hands together, looking off over the plains to the central mountains of the Reservation. "Yeah. Yeah-yeah-yeah—that would do it—that would do it!" He pounced back to Zoey, "Which one?"

"Wh—"

"Who's stealing from Hatch? Oh right, you can't really—by skull! What kind of skull is the Cubone wearing?"

"Arbok."

Hatch frowned.

Zoey rolled her eyes, "Before that, Luxio—"

Hatch's exited face dropped to sheer horror, "Oh _Spirits_ no! There is_ no way_ I'm fightin' her—what'd he do to tick her off now?!"

"He cracked her Luxio skull yesterday."

"What? _What!_"

"He beat her in a fight, cracked her Luxio skull, and let her run," Zoey said simply, shrugging, "Hey, you're a better fighter than him, right?"

"_I'm still not fighting her—_how do _you_ know this!? Daaah," Hatch bit his lip and stormed away. He spun in revelation, "Maro! I'm gonna to get Maro—he'll stop her! What today is it—where is he today? Okay. Okay!"

He ran off at full tilt down the hill.

"Hey! How long—" Zoey scowled. "Well what am I going to do?!" Looking around. "I guess _I'm_ distracting her then. Oh, great!"

Taking a second to steel herself, she started around the rock formation and tripped over herself when she saw Jack sitting next to Luxia pile of loot, a blank expression on his face. Luxia appeared from the cave soon enough. With only a surprised glance, she proceeded to ignore him and placed a large Lairon plate in the pile behind him, then headed back into the cave.

Jack took a shaky breath—Luxia cut him off.

"You were there at the river yesterday, and here you are now," She turned and took three steps back towards him, spinning her club idly. "Spirits don't work in coincidences, so, really, what are you doing here?"

"You're stealing," Jack said in a surprisingly calm and flat tone. "And I've been taught stealing is wrong."

Luxia scoffed, "It isn't stealing when all of this is already stolen. A Shellhead is a scavenger. A worthless hatchling that can't hunt, can't track, and can't kill. The only thing worse than a Shellhead, is a hatching that can't make a real club." She smirked to herself. "If you really want to help a Shellhead, you would go back down that hill, and I'll finally get the message through his head that every single Marowak has been telling him since he broke his arm—he won't survive the Trials. Without a den, he'll have to create his own and just he can't do that." She looked up at the rock formation. "And once I'm done here, I'll get the other one to realize the same thing."

"Trust me," She looked back at Jack, "I am doing them a favor. A Shellhead is still family and the Spirits know he'll never make it in the Spirit World. So. Little Squirtle. This is now a part of my territory. Leave now." She turned and walked towards the den.

Jack hesitated, "No. My father is the caretaker so this is _his_ territory." Luxia froze. "The area upstream and the dam? My father allows the Bibarels to live there so long as they relegate the water flow. The lake? He leaves that in charge to the Wiscatch there. And all of it it has been recognized _by your Tribe_ to be his. You _have_ no territory—you're just a hatchling!"

She looked over her shoulder at him, "So you play favorites with this one then?"

"_This one_," Jack echoed with increasing tone in his voice. He flinched as Luxia glared, "This one is quiet. He doesn't make disturbances along the river, he respects the bridge we have, and even though he doesn't talk to anyone, he isn't mean to any of them. _This one_ has earned our respect and we let him live here. _You_ are _stealing_ from his den! I can't respect you at all! You have no honor!"

"So you _are_ overlooking the fact that he killed the Umbreon."

"That was a wild Scyther—the Marowak said so."

"It's _never_ Scyther, Squirtle," Luxia said harshly as she faced him fully, "Doesn't matter if the Spirits prefer them over the Umbreon. The bugs are soft and clumsy. They think too much for having such sharp blades."

"So…" Jack hesitated for a second, "So you'd rather have a mind as blunt as your club?"

"I prefer the reason it gives upon contact with other minds."

Jack frowned, glancing away, "Sounds like you know it by experience."

Luxia threw down her club, startling Jack, and marched straight up to him. "What exactly are you trying to do—trying to prove to me? That this is wrong—no! It's _not_ wrong! I already _told_ you, I'm doing this for _his own good_. I don't care about whose territory is what. I don't care who you are or who your father is. Respectfully. It's just that Shellhead is going to get himself killed because he's too thick to realize that his place in the tribe is _not_ out here! It's _in_ _there,_" she pointed to the mountains that jutted over the horizon, "where he doesn't need sheer luck to survive!"

"Uh, he beat you yesterday. And he can probably do it again."

"Because I was going about this wrong!" She threw up her hands, pacing away. "Yes! I tried to break his skull because I thought that was the easiest thing to do to! Listen," she turned back to Jack, "I am not an evil Cubone! What if you had a brother and he was doing something extremely stupid? What would you do to keep him from getting hurt?!" For a moment, the annoyance in her eyes broke into genuine concern. Exasperated and frustrated, but concern all the same.

"…he's your brother?"

"No!" She scowled, spinning on her heel and walking away. "I'm trying to put things in terms _you_ would understand."

Jack finally noticed Zoey, hiding behind a boulder.

'Keep going, keep going,' She mouthed to him, waving slightly. 'Get her mad!'

"If you cared this much, why don't you just tell him?"

"Haven't you been _listening_?!" Luxia stormed back up to Jack, "Before we left for our trials, he was told he wouldn't make it. I told him he wouldn't make it. He doesn't listen. He says that I don't think when I'm angry, but he doesn't know when something is out of his—why am I telling you all this?! You clearly don't understand!" She scowled at herself and darted back into the cave.

"Zoey," Jack hissed, "Are you absolutely sure this is Luxia?"

"So she thinks she's bein' noble and whatever," Zoey scowled back, "Twist it! Crush it!"

"How?"

"I don't know—I don't know where half of the stuff you're pulling is coming from just keep doin—" She ducked back as Luxia returned with another Lairon plate. A small one this time, Zoey thought it was a leg plate.

Not even looking at Jack, she marched directly up the pile, set down the plate, and started back. Jack stood in her way.

"I can't let you do this," He said sternly, blocking Luxia's attempts to go around him. She frowned, put a hand on his head, pushed it into his shell to disorient him, and then knocked him onto his back. Jack somersaulted off the curve of his shell and landed back on his feet, still in her way. "I'm-I'm not letting you by!"

Luxia snorted and glared, taking a few steps back to retrieve her club. "Squirtle," She said carefully. "I have been given the task of keeping this hatching alive by my Marowak elders. By removing him from the Trials, I am saving his life. By standing in my way, you are killing him."

"Yeah!?" Zoey shouted from her perch. Luxia merely glanced at her, half-rolling her eyes. Zoey ducked down for a second

"Not you again."

Zoey continued, shouting, "The other guy just went to get _their_ Marowak!" Luxia looked back to her, eyes wide under her skull. Zoey grinned, resting her head down on the rock, "I don't think he'll agree with ya here."

Luxia glanced down to the ground, slowly taking a few steps back, then looked around in a panic, mouthing half-words to herself.

She whirled and a streak of white arched away.

"Zoey—_gaaak_"

Jack bounced off his shell and onto his front, shaking stars away to see Luxia jumping back to catch her club.

Zoey! Jack looked to her perch on the rocks—he couldn't find her. He snapped his body into his shell as the bone club struck the dirt where his head was.

"Are you crazy?!" Jack shouted out, kicking a foot out onto the ground to skid him out of the way of the next blow, then snapping all of his limbs out to hop away from the next and onto his feet.

Luxia stepped back, club held half in front of her, ready to deflect any attack.

Jack backed away from her, towards where Zoey was. Luxia merely followed him with short steps. The moment Jack glanced back to Zoey, she charged.

Seeing the blur of brown, Jack dove sideways onto his stomach, digging his claws into the grass to keep him from sliding down the hill. Luxia spun back towards him, meeting his eyes with blurred panicked ones.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered and fired a blast of water at her with all his strength. Her eyes snapped into focused just before it hit her, and she tumbled back into the rocks. It was just a single blast of water, not a full on torrent like the attacks his father could deal. Still, when Jack stood up, Luxia had collapsed against the rocks, visibly shuddering and hyperventilating as she curled into a little ball.

"Zoey!" Jack bolted for where he last saw the Zigzagoon. He found her lying just on the other side of the rock. "Zoey, you okay? Zoey?"

An eye opened, "Ya get her?"

Jack sighed, "…yeah." Zoey rolled onto her feet, whimpering when she tried to put weight on her left foreleg. "Are you okay?"

"Get me an Oran and I'll be fine," Zoey grumbled limping along on three legs around Jack.

"Zoey! Where are you—"

"To figure out _why the heck she'd attack us!?_" She shouted towards the fallen Cubone, despite being rather close to her. Zoey snorted as she sat down next to Luxia, "Well?"

"Don't tell…" Luxia whimpered, not looking up. "Please don't tell Maro. Don't tell…."

"If ya didn't want to be caught, then you could have just _asked us to let you go_!" Zoey growled. "Really! We didn't want to get caught up in this! Not everything can be fixed by hitting Pokémon, ya know?!"

"And I hope it's a lesson she learned today."

Zoey and Jack spun to see not just one Marowak, but two approaching them. Along with Hatch's and Shell's mentor, there was another, wearing the skull of a Tyranatar. The second Marowak also had several armbands that held his lightweight club to his forearm and several battle scars along his chest. Jack glanced between them; Hatch's and Shell's Marowak was far older than the other one. Hatch was peering around his Marowak, blinking in awe the sight of the most powerful Hatchling downed in a single blast of water.

"Maro… I'm…" Luxia started, her voice cutting out.

"Save your strength," the Tyranatar Marowak sighed as the other looked over Zoey's leg. "You've done more than enough today. Sit there and be still for a moment. For once. Meanwhile, you two." Jack and Zoey shrunk, Jack in a bit more literal sense. The two Marowak nodded to each other. "Follow. Hatchling, watch over your kin and _only_ watch over her. Do not speak to her. Let her think about what she has done while we ordain proper punishment."

'_Tyran_,' Jack thought, giving a title to the new Marowak as the two led him and Zoey around the rock formation, not stopping until they were half-way to Hatch's den, but still in sight of Luxia.

"Now then," Tyran said. "What brings you to mettle in Hatchling affairs?"

Jack and Zoey gulped, glancing to each other.

"Well, we were just…" Zoey started.

"Going up the river," Jack picked up, "My dad needed an update on how the water levels were in the lake and-and to tell Clara's weather report to the Bibarels."

"Yeah, for what that's worth," Zoey chided in. "We had just passed the bridge when we saw l….the Arbok skull going up the hill and we wondered what she was doing and so we kinda wanted to find out—"

"But from the river! _In_ the river!" Jack interrupted, "Not close-by-here! And then we saw her start stealing thing from the den, so we told H—the other hatchling about her hoping _he_ would stop her but he ran to get you two—"

"No, _I_ did that, you were too slow!"

"But Zoey was afraid she'd burn the den so I tried to buy time by talking to her but she panicked and—_please don't exile Shell._"

"If anything you should exile _her_—'cuz she's stealing and stealing is bad!"

The two Marowak exchanged humored looks over the two teary Pokémon.

"'Shell?'" Tyran echoed.

"He outgrew his last skull sometime last year and hasn't found a fitting one yet," Maro said. "He's done well, all things considered.

"Ah, that old trick," Tyran nodded, then looked down to the two, "You two are aware that it isn't an eggshell, right? It's a trick we learn before the Trials to use if they can't find a skull that fits them." He laughed lowly, "But _Shell_?' Not the most flattering thing to call him, better than what I was called by the Mudkip though."

"Oh, stop antagonizing these two," Maro said, shaking his head and kneeling down to the two little Pokemon. "Now, now. There's no need to be upset. You two merely did what you thought was right against a confused little hatchling. No, we're not going to exile Shell. Nor are we going to exile…" his voice trailed off, his eyes sparkling after a second, "You two have to have given all three little nicknames by now, yes? I'm genuinely curious as to what they are."

"My dad said it was a bad thing to give them names…?" Jack meekly said, shrinking slightly again.

Maro sighed, looking up to Tyran, "And this is what I was talking about, you see?" He sighed and looked at the Zigzagoon. "…Zoey, was it? Your leg seems fine. I can only guess that she was trying to knock both you out and run before we showed. I'd give you an Oran berry if we had one, but—"

Tyran tapped Maro on the shoulder, "You never told me he was skilled in using Lairon plates."

"Hmm?" Maro followed Tyran's gaze, as did Jack and Zoey. Shell had appeared from the plains, his armor dented far more than when he set out. His eyes were on the ground, his lighter club in hand, heavier one attached across his shoulders. Maro stifled an almost proud laugh, "Apparently he never told me either." He frowned, "…what did he end up in a fight with? Do you see the cracks in the shell?"

"Nevermind the cracks, can you see the nose of it?" Tyran said back, frowning slightly when Shell pulled an Oran berry from his satchel and looked at it with a dissatisfied frown. "I'm sure he'd appreciate to know where it went." He glanced to Maro, "Maro, has anything changed in the Reservation since I left?"

Maro shook his head, "Besides the Squirtle's father taking on the role of the caretaker of the river the last, nothing. No new wilds migrating in or out during the last six years, _certainly_ no mystery dungeons. And then there was the incident several months ago I was telling you about earlier."

"Hmm," Tyran nodded, looking back to Luxia and Hatch. The latter curious about what exactly was in that pile of items Luxia had pulled out, currently looking over one of the Lairon plates. Luxia sat with her head bowed to the ground, her entire posture seeping of defeat and humiliation. "And the council has done nothing to find the murderer?"

"Nothing," Maro shook his head. "They passed it off to the Scyther themselves—wild or not, it's still a Scyther. The Council is wary of any accidents on our part if we hunt it ourselves."

"May Arceus curse us if we all work together," Tyran sighed. "I still don't think they'll listen to me, Maro."

Maro laughed lowly, "As an Pilgrim, you handled the responsibilities handed to you perfectly. I am very proud of you on that." He looked down to Jack and Zoey. "As he decided to not stop by town on his return, be sure to tell Marshall that Headaches says 'hello—"

"_Maaaroooo…._" Tyran groaned, scowling.

The two smaller Pokémon exchanged half-confused looks as Maro laughed softly. He sighed and seriousness returned to his eyes.

"Now then," Maro said sternly to Tyran. "In light of what's going on, your training of these two—the hatchlings, that is, not you two. The training is going to be delayed a few days as we deal proper punishment where punishment is due."

"Understandable," Tyran nodded, looking back down to Shell. "Ah, he's noticed us." The little Cubone was climbing the hill up towards them, a perplexed look on his face that grew more and more confused when he saw Jack and Zoey. His helmet had indeed lost a bulk over his nose, showing the front of his snout. The shell's once-smooth edge now sported fractures and cracks running up the sides while the armor's paint had scratched off and sported a few dents. Shell himself looked like he had gone through quite a beating despite only being gone for so little a time.

And then he saw Luxia and Hatch. His weary expression blanked and he blinked.

"Maro, what is going on?" He finally asked. "Why is the Squirtle here? Why is she here?"

"Give the Zigzagoon an Oran while I explain. It seems she was trying to raid your den," Maro said simply, walking the group over to Shell's den and quickly and bluntly summarized what had transpired. Tyran stopped Jack and Zoey off to the side as Maro lead Shell to the other hatchlings. "Do you understand, hatchling?"

"Yes, Maro, I do," Shell said. He looked up to Maro suddenly, "By the Tribe laws, as the victim of the crime, I can pardon her, right? So that no punishment will fall her way…?"

Tyran exchanged surprised looks with Maro, then shared it with Jack and Zoey.

Maro sighed, "I don't think that's—"

"So long as she fulfills a demand in return," Shell said quickly, blinking as he remembered. He looked down, his weary voice growing more wavering, "…I just want one thing from her, Maro. I want my Spirit Guardian back."

"If she's stolen your Spirit Guardian," Tyran butted in, wincing, "Then no law can protect her."

Luxia groaned, "Is this about the Luxio you found the first year? You didn't kill that!"

"No," Shell snorted, "But I spent an afternoon keeping the wilds away from it." He huffed. "Something hurt it really bad and couldn't heal it, but…! But…!" He paced away. "…the Umbreon asked Faizel what he had that a wild Pokémon didn't. Faizel never understood, but when I found the Luxio, I did." He sighed and turned. "When I found it, it was a wild Luxio. When it died, it _wasn't_. Not a fully Knowing Pokémon, but it wasn't wholly wild—I saw it in its eyes." Shell shook his head. "I want my Guardian back. Please."

"Who's Faizel?" Zoey whispered to Jack. He shook his head, shrugging.

"Why is he quoting legend now?" Tyran muttered to himself. "Faizel…." He faded off then sighed softly, nodding to himself. "…right, we don't tell them _that_ one." He cleared his throat and, louder, "Maybe I'm misunderstanding this, but didn't anyone tell you to _not_ to go through the Luxray Fields until you were stronger?"

"I saw it from this hill," Shell said. "It wasn't even halfway to the horizon."

Tyran's confused glare moved to Luxia, "So why where you so far from _your_ den?"

"My Maro and me were training nearby and saw him fighting off the wilds. After he sent its spirit on, my Maro told me to take the Luxio from him. He said he'd be putting himself in danger with a Luxray as his Guardian, and I was to keep him safe."

Tyran scowled, he and Maro exchanging angered looks, "I'm going to take her back to her den—"

"No," Maro interrupted, his lighthearted voice now stern and as angered as Tyran's, "I will return her. I need to speak to her Maro if this is true. It is one think to put these two in these dens, it is another to deny them the proper growth they deserve. Start your training with these two. Now. Withhold nothing from them." He sighed and looked down to Jack and Zoey, voice losing most of the anger but not the tiredness, "Squirtle, Zigzagoon, it is time to resume your errand."

"Um…?"

"As we are journeying in the same direction, we will accompany you partway up the river. Let us go." With that, Maro turned and picked up Luxia, then started down the hill. Jack and Zoey exchanged panicked looks.

"Go on, you two," Tyran walked behind them, gently pushing them forward with his tail, "The Bibarels are probably wondering where you are by now. Right?" He smirked, winking down to them.

"Uh, yeah!" Zoey swallowed, looking between Hatch and Shell, then to Jack. "Come on! Elmsgrove could be having a drought _right now_! It'll be like that time before you moved here! Come on, let's _go!_"

Jack nodded and stumbled after Zoey, glancing at Hatch and Shell as he went by.

"Maro?" Shell asked after the two started down the hill. Zoey swatted Jack and slowed her pace, her ears perked to listen in, "Do I get my Luxio back?"

"If you don't, then I'm not telling the Council what I found on my Pilgrimage."

"You're a Pilgrim?" That was from Hatch. "Can you even _do_ that? Not telling the Council?"

"Kid, we don't tell the Council a lotta things. But you can tell me what tried to eat you this time."

"Nothing," Shell said sheepishly, "I fell down a fissure."

* * *

**For those interested, I now have a second Pokemon story up. It's a novelization of my PMD:Blue nuzlocke run. I'm writing it for a more of a traditional PMD story.**

**The best part? I ended up with Cubone as my starter. Ha-haaa...**

**Thanks for reading. The next few chapters will be a bit quicker on the update.**


	10. Misunderstandings

ten

Misunderstandings

The four of them walked upstream along the river. Well, Maro, Jack and Zoey walked, Luxia was in Maro's arms, head over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the ground. Maro in the front, Jack and Zoey trailing behind. Zoey all the while glaring at Luxia, daring her to make eye contact. She never did.

"So how is Elmsgrove fairing with the drought?" Maro asked suddenly. "Yes, this _is_ almost as severe as the one a few years ago…. Squirtle, I do hope your father fairs better than the previous caretaker, not only was that one not as pleasant to be around, but her decisions lead to the last drought worsening to the point of fires breaking out over the land." He looked over his shoulder to Jack, "Is he prepared to do what's necessary to keep this river flowing? Do you know if he'll prioritize the survival of the forest, or of the lake, or of the town?"

"Um…."

"Oh, my apologies," Maro shook his head at himself, "I'm just deeply concerned for the wellbeing of this area, and while I have faith in your father, I cannot help but worry…." He faded off, sighing. "…also, on the topic of apologies." The niceties in his voice faded as he looked to the Cubone on his shoulder. "I believe some are in order."

"I'm sorry…." Luxia said quietly.

"Louder, please."

"I'm sorry."

"And why are you sorry?"

"…for attacking them…."

"Why did you attack them? …Hatchling, why did you attack the Squirtle and the Zigzagoon?"

"…because…."

"Because why, Hatchling?" Maro frowned, his voice growing more stern. "Hatchling. Why did you attack them? You are not a wild Pokémon. You have reason. So, tell them the reason or your punishment will only worsen. …Hatchling, my patience with you has run thin over the last few months; do not think I am not above taking your skull from—"

"Because-I-thought-I-could-get-away-and-it-would-l ook-like-they-did-it! I'm sorry! I'm so-rr-rr-ey!" She bawled, tears running out from under her skull and dripping from the nose. "They said you were coming and I panicked—I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry….! I didn't… I didn't…!" She fell limp on the shoulder, stifling sobs.

Jack and Zoey exchanged awkward glances while Maro sighed, shaking his head. "Hatchling, while I may not be your Maro, with the Pilgrim taking over my training duties I will be free to aid you in your social issues." He scoffed and shifted her to carry in the crook of his arms. "You children these days. Always fighting, never learning. We pair you up so you have a companion to face the Trial with, yet you squabble with all of them…. Our _Tribe_ will be in a sorry state if you are our greatest warrior. How are you different from the Pokémon you hunt if you cannot have civil conversation from your peers?

"If anything, you're the one to learn from the shellhead. He has goals, aspirations—even though this Trial is to test your means of survival, it is still the time for you hatchlings to dream of quests seeking Cresselia! To explore and run and discover things you never knew existed! Just because he refuses to give those dreams up does _not _mean it is your place to decide that he is not fit to be a warrior!" He sighed. "…Hatchling. You still have many years left in the trials, yet you've abandoned them in the single-minded goal of becoming a Bone Warrior. And the time is…."

_Joshua faded off, hesitating far too long. His eyes blurred for a moment before darting to Cubone. She hadn't moved. Not at all. Arms holding her knees to her chin, eyes lost in the fire._

…may I ask you a question…?

_Her eyes slowly glanced over at him. It was a movement, but only a movement, eyes looking through him, clouded by a sad fog. After a long second, Joshua shook his head._

It's… it's nothing, never mind.

_She looked back into the fire. Joshua hesitated again, looking away to hide a weary sigh._

"But I forget myself…." Maro sighed again, then looked back over his shoulder, the warmness back in his eyes, "Do you two accept her apology?"

"W—"

"No!" Zoey shouted forward. "Not when she's burning the dens of wilds!"

Maro frowned, "And you know this how?"

"She's been poking around this side of the Res, so I've been following her. One time, she raids a wild Zigzagoon den for items, and it bursts into flames the moment she leaves! Fire blasting out of the hole!"

"Is this true, Hatchling…?" Maro asked flatly. Luxia mumbled something. "And where was this wild den?" More mumbling. Maro nodded, "I believe you, many a Cubone have done the same thing before."

"What?!"

"Typhlosions have habit of keeping their young in abandoned dens here," Maro announced, almost tiredly as he looked back to them, "There are several that live in the hills above the lake. I always had wondered why they choose to reside there, but then again, the wilds of the Reservation are always a bit curious. She did not start the fire; it was the Spirits who blessed Typlosions with it to defend themselves against silly children such as this one. And really, what is there to burn in such a hole in the ground?" He nodded, "…I take it you didn't know there were Cyndaquils here, hmm?"

"Uh, no," Zoey blinked, looking sheepishly away. "I didn't. …wow, I feel like a jerk now—J…." She hung her head slightly as she looked over to Jack, "Good job on at least _trying_ to talk her down, there, and not just straight-up blasting her with water."

"It seems we all learned a lesson here," Maro chuckled, stepping off to the side and smiled warmly with the twinkle back in his eyes, "But here is where our paths split," he kneeled down to Jack and Zoey. "While I wish we could stop meeting due to such serious issues, it seems the Spirits have their own plans. Still, until I see you two again, be well." His grin widened for an instant and he stood. He started away but paused after two steps. Over his shoulder, "All things considered, you've grown quite a bit since we last met, Jack. Be proud of how you handled the situation, I'm sure your father will be if he hears of it." With that, he disappeared into the shrubbery.

"…he just used your name?" Zoey said quietly, glancing at Jack. "After what Marshall said—I'm pretty sure Luxia's still awake there—do you know hard it's been to _not_ to say your name in front of them?"

Jack shrugged, "I dunno, Zoey." He sighed. "I just _really_ don't want to do that again."

"Whaddya mean? You did great! Right up until she hit me with her club."

"It just feels weird and…." He looked up. "…Dad?" Zoey followed his gaze. Sure enough, the Blastoise had appeared from around the bend, very focused on the river as he walked down it. "Where did Dad come from?"

Jack's father glanced up, then double-taked at the two, a grin spreading over his face. "Jack! Zoey!" He called to them. "What are you two doing all the way up here?"

"I thought you were in town all today!" Jack called forward as the two ran towards his father. "Zoey was bored so we're out looking for oran berries." To be fair, that _was_ their plan for the day after they had given up on Cubone-watching.

"Mmm, today's not exactly the best day to do it," Jack's father laughed, picking up the two and setting them up on his shoulders. Well, shoulders for a Blastoise—on his shell, you know what I mean. "It's dry and hot and I don't want you two getting into any fights. The wilds are a little on edge from the drought. I've got the Bibarels to open up their dam slightly. They didn't like it, they build dams, not take them down. And the Wiscatch are going to complain about their lake draining.

"But this is what you have to do when you have responsibility, you two. You do the thing you believe is right, even if everyone else is going to complain about it. Even if it's not what the last guy did before you. And if they do complain, you give them your views and explain your thinking."

Zoey threw a humored look to Jack, "So what if they still don't agree with you? What do you do then?"

Jack's father sighed, "Well. That's where compromise comes in. But it helps to have the Marowak Tribe helping a little bit. No one wants to get them involved. Speaking of which," He looked around, "The two Marowak I was talking to earlier today had to run off suddenly and without much explanation. Have either of you seen… mmm, nevermind." He shook his head, "I doubt you ran into them. I'm telling you, they disappear the moment you take your eyes of them—vanish! If I didn't know better, I'd say they're part ghost!" He laughed. "No, I do not believe today would yield any juicy oran berries."

A deep rumbling resounded through the woods—Jack and Zoey jumped, Zoey grabbing onto one of the cannons to stay on the shell.

Jack sighed, "Daaaaad! You're hungry!" His father laughed. "Dad, you know how scary your belly rumbling is—Zoey, it scared that Arcanine that came to town a month ago."

Zoey scoffed, "Yeah, and half the town along with it. Derrik especially…." She faded off.

The warm smile of Jack's father's faded and he nodded somberly, "Yes. Well, it's best not to linger on such thoughts. I'm sure Derrik is doing fine wherever he is now… and I'll try not to startle the Arcanine's family when they finally arrive here. They're coming here for their health, not for me to scare it away!" He laughed. "Anyway! I say we head home before I start scaring the wilds. Was Samm there when you left, Jack?"

"No, we thought you were in Elmsgrove all day, remember? He's probably looking for you by now."

"Well, there isn't a whole lot of trouble he can get himself into in Elmsgrove. You two run on ahead, I need to go on checking the riverbed. However," his voice sighed, disappointed. "Jack, how many times did I tell you not to walk on the plains side of the river?"

"But—"

"Son. You're lucky the Luxray pride migrates to their watering hole in on the other side of the plains when it's this dry out, otherwise there would be at least two getting a drink from the river and one might just attack. And then what would I do, Jack?"

Jack looked down, "Sorry, Dad."

"Same thing goes to you Zoey. I don't want to explain to your father that you're babysitting Shinx again."

"Aw, but they were _ador—_"

"Zoey."

"Sorry…."'

"Good. Good. Now, think fast!" Jack's father nodded and, in a smooth movement, tossed the two to the other side of the river. Jack landed well enough, Zoey's injured leg collapsed under her and she rolled but hopped up quick enough. "Go on! I'll be a little while!"

The two waved their goodbyes and dashed down the river.

"Maro _knew_ he was there," Zoey hissed. "That was close!"

"That means Maro also knows we were lying," Jack sighed.

"Don't think he really cared that we lied; reminds me of my grandma, actually. I've heard that 'don't grow up so fast' speech before. …okay, maybe not—that _is_ what that was, right?" She shook her head. "But… he knew what your dad was doing. So why did he ask if _you_ knew?"

"Why are _you_ asking me?"

Zoey scowled, rolling her eyes.

"Your leg okay, Zoey?"

"It's just sore." She glowered, "I don't care if she was sorry, I'm gonna take her club and toss it to the Poochyenas! And then I'm gonna then run like mad and laugh like a crazed Zangoose."

Jack frowned at her, "…you hang around Zack too much."

"Uh, yeah. He's awesome. He's the only reason I can stand going to town."

They slowed to walking pace as they reached the bridge. Up on the hill, Tyran and the hatchlings sat. The little pile Luxia had made still out lying next to them, forgotten by the Cubones as they listened wide-eyed of the tales of the Pilgrim.


	11. Moments of Solace

eleven

Moments of Solace

With the drought in full swing, Jack was quickly entrusted by his father to journey up the dam for status reports on the well-being of the lake while his father handled issues elsewhere. …I assume they were more pressing than the river itself but whatever the task was, it was never made clear to me.

I digress. Once in the morning and once in the evening, Jack would trek up and down alongside the river—the… not-plains side of the river. He was only to be a messenger and was kindly treated as such; his father would make a trip of his own if any decision was to be made.

The dry season had ended last week—a few days after Luxia attacked him and Zoey at Shell's den. And since then, Zoey had constantly reminded him that every year, the very moment the dry season ended they would get swamped with rain for a week to the point the town would flood over. Every day without rain was another inch higher for when the floodwaters finally came. Another reason not to live in town, she said.

Well… that's Zoey for you.

The two had quickly agreed not to tell anyone what had happened at Shell's den. Jack didn't want to get into any trouble with his father and Zoey gloated she had gotten into a scuffle with one of the Cubone. No one believed her.

Meanwhile, Tyran had become a common sight on this side of the reservation. Over several days, Jack and Zoey watched him instruct the two hatchlings on how to build a camp, the site set between the hill and the plains. There, Tyran built a lean-to, a simple construction of sticks and branches to act as shelter yet it took an entire day for the two Cubone to understand the concept.

"It's not a hole in the ground," Zoey realized, then frowned at the look Jack was giving her, "What? No, really—this might be what Luxia was talking about, remember? They think shelter, and they see a cave."

"But Shell made armor," Jack tried to object, watching Shell's sticks fell over again. Hatch sniggered, but they'd been laughing at each other's efforts far too much to take it seriously. Tyran merely rubbed his eyes before remonstrating how deep the vertical struts needed to be driven into the ground.

"They also picked up a bone to hit me with, but that doesn't really say anything. 'sides, was terrible armor."

Jack sighed quietly. After a minute he spoke up, "You know for a tribe…"

…actually, I don't need to add that in for you, do I? Sorry. Nothing important, it's just a tangent I add in for those who don't know the tribe—a bit of a discussion on how rooted your Tribe is. These days, the connotation of a tribe is a group of Pokemon who move constantly. Nomads. But your Tribe has lived in the caverns for…. I'm sorry, I should have realized it and skipped it entirely. Anyway….

Anyway anyway anyway… where was I…?

…drought in full swing, Zoey's monsoon, truth as a lie, not a hole in the ground… ah, here we are.

It took the Hatchlings the entire day to get their little lean-to's constructed near Tyran's. Two triangles of branches, connected by another with leafy branches lent against it. Such a simple construction, and yet the two Cubone were excited when they had finished them, livid even.

Over the next few days, the little camp of three lean-to's developed a fire pit in the center. There, Tyran and the two hatchlings spent their days and nights around, the Marowak teaching the little ones with pictures drawn in the dirt. The lean-to's became wickiups—uh, like teepees. No…? Um… let's say better shelters and leave it at that. And during their breaks, Tyran stepped the two hatchlings through different types of combat drills.

Zoey and Jack had watched them for several days when they could, talking to themselves and amused by the antics of the Cubone. It was only when Tyran returned one morning with a Stantler over his shoulders that the two exchanged slightly-queasy glances and quickly left.

The drought wore on and the grass and leaves started to brow; and Jack had his hands full with navigating the river. Specifically, the wilds started to congregate around it. Stantler, Nidoran, Rattata, several types of birds… Mareep and Flaaffy wandered in from the plains, Shroomish from the forest…. Oddish and other grass-types took root along the banks. It was an uneasy peace amongst them, all too weary from the sun to fight, all not strong enough to find a place at the lake.

It still unnerved Jack as he made his treks up and down the river. Even with the opening of the dam, the water was shallow and, aside from an unlucky Lotad who had drifted into the current, it was clear of any Pokemon. With the banks of the river claimed by the wilds as temporary homes, the safest path was the water itself.

It didn't mean he didn't feel the eyes of several dozen wilds on him as he half-swam, half-crawled to and from the lake, twice a day. His father joined him every so often, glaring down the wilds and ensuring the safety of his son on the days the wilds were unruly.

Still, Jack quickly fell into the precaution of never making eye-contact with the wilds and kept his distance whenever one of them was near the water. Even with the looming figure of his father, the Stantler and Flaafy scared him. They were growing more and more agitated as week wore on. It took Zoey several days to find out why—Tyran had the hatchlings hunting them when they left the river to graze.

Back at the camp, Tyran and the Hatchlings had expanded it: improving their shelters and constructing several other things The summer wool coats of Mareep and Flaaffy had been collected and set aside in woven baskets for a cooler day to handle. Hides of Stantler were stretched over wooden frames, drying in the sun while their antlers were interlocked in some sort of cooking rack for the meat.

There were also a growing number of scavengers attracted by the smell of the cooking meat—Nidoran, Poochyena, Rattata, an Electrike or two. All far too timid to make a move in the daylight and too tired in the night.

There was one morning when a pack of Growlithe had encircled the camp. Tyran dealt with them before the Hatchlings could. With a single throw of his club, he knocked out four, the bone ricocheting between them, and the rest ran. Sending the Cubones off to hunt, he waited patiently for the four Growlithe to awake, meeting their bleary eyes with a glare that made a grown Arcanine whimper like a puppy, and then watched them run off. Or, that's how Zoey tells it at least.

Still, there was always then someone at camp. If it was Hatch, he'd end up falling asleep. Shell, more often than not, would too. And every so often, Jack and Zoey would catch sight of Tyran by himself. Somewhere along the way, he had gotten his hands on one of the smallest Lairon plates Shell had, one smaller than his palm.

Some days he would do is hold it out in front of him, pondering it, glancing between it and the firepit. He'd then shake his head, and set it aside back in his shelter before turning to another project, one involving wood that never seemed to go anywhere.

Later on, he'd spend his time idly scraping rocks against the metal plate as he watched the sun set over the plains. Slowly sharpening the metal into a small point.

Then, one afternoon, he had it. A small dagger, much like a steel version of my own scalchops. He pressed the blade against his palm and it came away with a small line of red. Tyran then held it up to the setting sun, watching the blood glisten, and the metal gleam.

Slowly, the Marowak cut the bindings holding his club to his forearm and the two weapons, taking each in a hand, looking down with them with empty eyes.

He laughed a laugh neither happy nor sad. A blunt, empty laugh.

"And that's all there is for it. Yet it's not…." He sighed and looked over the plains, to the central mountain, holding up the plate towards it. "Faizel. Cyril. …you were right. You were absolutely right. After everything… after everything is said, the words are lost upon saying them." He dropped his club onto the cracked earth, eyes quickly boiling to a rage. "But if our words are truly lost—if they truly mean _nothing…!_ If they mean nothing, how then can we be found?!" Steady drops of red pattered down onto the dry earth from his shaking hand. "How can they be found when they turn away the Seeker?"

With a shout of rage, he threw down his skull, snapping his club. With another, he drove the blade into the skull's forehead. He sat back, looking down on his skull, seething until his rage subsided.

He stood. "And so I seek elsewhere."

Taking the blade in his bleeding hands, he marched up the hill. Hesitating only when he neared Shell's den.

Tyran laid a bloody hand on the entry, looking into the darkness of the den. Slowly, his gaze moved to the trickle of blood running down the rocks. He dropped his hand to his side and slowly, he left.

The camp disappeared overnight. The wickiups were missing, the fire pit scattered, the hides taken down, and the antlers gone. Tyran's skull gone. All abandoned, after only a month of habitation. And Tyran was never seen again.

The Hatchlings were back in their respective dens and the two saw Shell set out like he had before. Ah, without the armor, it was a bit hot for that—he hasn't been wearing that for a long while, not since his confrontation with Luxia.

Even if they couldn't make everything out from their tree, watching the Hatchlings fumble through Tyran's lessons was entertaining. Now… now there wasn't anything left to do, only for Jack to make his runs up and down the river and Zoey to lurk in the tree until she grew bored and returned home.

Two days after the camp had dispersed, Jack again stopped in the shadow of the bridge for a rest on his way back from the evening run. The report today wasn't good: the rivers feeding the lake had dried up completely and the lake itself was shrinking rapidly. Jack's river was only still flowing due to the Bibarels completely dismantling their dam and the Whiscash shifting the lake's waters into the river through their own efforts, and they recently had resorted to small earthquakes to force the water.

The small council had consisted of of the Whiscash of the lake, the Bibarels, and the Flygon who was the Caretaker for the lands past the lake—the foothills where Lucia hunted and the mountains east of the Caverns. They had met with Jack with forced pleasantries and gave him his message with strained faces.

Jack was carrying an ultimatum, the river couldn't be supported. In three days, the town's water would be halted.

A few Ekans and Dunsparce lazed under the bridge. Still, Jack was thankful, the Ariados from yesterday had moved on and only a single Ekans batted an eye at the Squirtle while the rest were asleep or unmoving. Either way, Jack crawled undisturbed under the bridge and to the shadow it cast and flopped onto the browned grass to take a few deep breaths. For all it was worth—the shade was as hot as the nights, very.

After a minute, he sensed movement and opened an eye.

Shell sat a few feet away, looking deeply into the absent eyes of the skull he held in his lap.

"You always have something on your mind, don't you Squirtle?" Shell said, glancing over. "Don't worry so much about the wilds; they can't spare the energy to fight." Jack stood up, "I'm not asking you to leave. It's a long way from the lake, take a rest."

Jack slowly sat back down, "…did you follow me?"

"We only gave the wilds something more to worry about than a Squirtle marching up and down the river," Shell shrugged innocently, "Maro told us what your duties are to your father and asked us to keep an eye on you." He looked over, making eye contact, "We kinda need this river too."

Jack glanced away for an instant, frowning, "Um… when you say 'Maro'…?"

"Wha…? Oh," Shell shook his head at himself, "Not the Pilgrim, my Maro. The one who lead you upstream that one time, our teacher. Though the Pilgrim had taken over for a little while, training us of all the things he learned on his Pilgrimage." He frowned at Jack's confused look. "Pilgrimage? He goes out of the Reservation and finds things to bring back to the tribe. Tools, ways to fight, bones and skulls… knowledge." He faded off, looking back down into his skull. "This… this sounds weird, but can I ask you something, Squirtle?"

Jack blinked, "Um, sure?"

"Did you see the... camp we had over there?" He said the words with uncertainty as he pointed back towards the plains.

"Um, yeah?"

"Maro and the Pilgrim keeps mentioning a 'town' and its bugging me. Is that like a bigger camp? I… can't remember the explanation the storytellers gave me."

"I… um…" Jack fumbled, blinking as he glanced away. Where was Zoey when he needed her? Then again, she'd probably tackle him to the ground and demand answers out of him that way. "I guess you can put it that way. I mean, no one lives in teepees."

Shell nodded, "Lattices of wood and stone, set in patterns to repel the weather and hold the warmth in the winter, and cool in the summer. The pilgrim called them…."

"Err, houses?"

"Houses, yeah. For dens." Shell unconsciously glanced up at his own up on the hill. "…and then there were places of exchange, one thing for another…?"

"Shops."

"That," Shell sighed, "I don't understand what he meant by that." He shook his head and looked back to Jack.

"Well… um… how…" Jack fumbled, sighing to himself as he glanced away. "I mean, if I can ask this, but how does your tribe… does anyone do work in exchange for something?"

Shell tilted his head, understanding the question but not what it meant, "…the hunters bring the food, the healers heal the sick, the storytellers tell the stories, the Chief leads the Council of Elders who lead the tribe, the warriors defend everyone, and the Bone Warriors protect the region. No one does it in exchange for anything, we do it for each other because that's what's right. If… shops are work in exchange for food—"

Jack groaned, falling onto his back.

"Now you know how I feel," Shell scoffed, bemused. After a second, he leaned back as well, resting the skull on his chest and looking up to the sky. "There were so many things the Pilgrim said that neither me or Hatch don't understand completely."

"You didn't ask him to explain?"

"He was never sure on how long he had with us, and wanted us to know as much as possible. Besides," Shell scoffed, "he isn't the greatest teacher. Not patient like Maro. And… his Pilgrimage changed him… There's times when he talks like Marshall does… a bit like you do. He gets frustrated easily with the Tribe and well, I can see why they sent him on Pilgrimage." Jack frowned, eyes confused. Shell glanced to him, "Do you know how he actually knows Marshall? He keeps mentioning him."

"Uh…." Jack hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember, "Marshall mentioned that there was something that happened with a group of Hatchlings—but said he'd tell me when I was older. …it's how he knew Maro, I think. And, uh, I think the, err, Pilgrim was one of the Hatchlings. …he came to town a few times."

Shell's head snapped to look at Jack, "He did?"

"I only saw him once or twice," Jack said uneasily. "And only going to the Library, maybe to find Marshall there."

"A library…" Shell nodded to himself, "…stories, engraved on pages like paintings on walls. A Library is a house that holds them, an unmoving teller of stories where the tales are never forgotten."

"…sure. That's where Marshall's office is for his Guild. Well… it _was_ Derrik's office but Marshall's now managing the Guild himself. The Guild's big maps are also there but the rest of the Guild has their own base…." Jack sat up, "If you really want to know, I can show you the town—"

"Squirtle," Shell said quickly, very defensively, "the day I was given my den, Maro showed me a sign in the woods. And then another, and then another. I was told they encircled the entire Reservation and to learn to where these were. All of them were pointed away from us and, if I ever was able to read them, I would fail the Trials."

"…and then you get Exiled for leaving the Rez?"

"No," Shell lifted up the skull, looking back into its eyes. "I just lose my chance at being a Bone Warrior. They don't want us leaving for our own safety—I mean, we can go anywhere in the Reservation except to the Scyther's half, just not outside it. And even then, Maro still likes to know where we go." Shell sighed, biting his lip as he mulled something over.

He slowly started again. "The Pilgrim had so many ways of doing things, maybe… maybe too many and he didn't know what to do. But I do like doing things. The Elders say I should be a storyteller—a-a teacher and… and that's nice and all, but… Maro says I can do more than that—the Pilgrim _says_ I can. …I want to take what I learn and build on it all. I want to be a Bone Warrior."

Jack scratched his head, "Um, what's that?"

Shell sighed proudly, almost dreamily, "They're the strongest Warriors in our Tribe. Alright, maybe not _the_ strongest, but they're…." He scowled, looking away to reach under his skull to rub his face. "Sorry. Our Warriors defend the tribe, right? Bone Warriors, they go _out_ of the Reservation and help out all over the area—they get to do so many _amazing_ things every day. And they're more respected than our Elders because they are guided and answer only to the Spirits. But only a few Hatchlings are chosen to be Bone Warriors, but I have to pass the Trials to even be _considered_ to be picked."

Shell fell silent for a second, eyes again lost in the ones of his skull. Jack bit his lip, glancing back to the tree for a second—what would Zoey ask? Right now? "…so, you really do have to stay out here for ten years?"

"Well… we don't _have _to," Shell said uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders a bit. "The Trials go on for a Hatchling for as long as they can last—do you remember my fight with… um… _her_ at the river? She was trying to break… well, this thing," He tapped his shell. "If a Hatch manages to break their skull and they're not doing too well, they get taken out of the Trials so they don't get killed or anything." He glanced to Jack, "I mean, it usually goes that a Cubone manages get their skull broke, usually they're really hurt as well. …it's like the residents of the Reservation leaving after the Umberon was killed. Remove themselves from risk."

"That… makes sense, kinda," Jack said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in thought. "But, um… _she_ tried to break your…?"

"Yeah, that counts too." The Cubone scoffed, shaking his head as his voice went dry, "If we can't hold our own against each other, than we can't hold our own against the wilds. Rule number seven of the Hatchling Trials," Shell scowled at no one. "…I broke my arm when I was a Yearling," He motioned to the scarring on his left arm. "Instead of the Warriors teaching me how to fight, they sent me to the Storytellers and learned the law of the tribe."

Jack winced, "That sounds kinda boring."

"Yeah… but it means I am the _only _Hatch who knows Trials's rules in full." The Cubone met Jack's eyes, "But I found I _like_ learning, and out here I've found I like doing things and finding new things _to_ learn. And, between the two…." He looked up to the heavy blue of the sky, "If I catch the world off guard, the Spirits can never stop me. Yeah?" Shell turned to see Jack frowning. Shell scoffed, rolling his eyes, "You're just like Hatch—he's content to just make it through the Trials and be a normal Warrior.

"No, if I can keep outside their reach, the Spirits will have no choice but to grant me the title in order for me to be under their control. Then they will empower my heart with what I need to protect the land and the souls that inhabit it." Shell sighed, glancing away as his voice lost enthusiasm. "Except, along with Hatch, I'm the weakest one in the cycle. My broken arm kept me from training."

"So what's Hatch's excuse?"

Shell choked a laugh down, "Oh, he's just flat out terrible at everything! He's only gotten this far because I've been helping him—don't tell anyone that. Actually… don't tell anyone that we talked, okay? It's… it's against Trial Rules to… to…" Shell faded off, eyes growing distant as he silently mumbled off the rules in his head.

"To make fr—"

"To receive or seek any sort of aid from someone outside the Tribe or engage extended conversation on matters. Trial Rule number two."

"…what's rule one?"

"Don't die."

Jack swallowed his words, glancing away and folding his arms. "…talking? We're not talking. I'm just sitting here, you just happen to be sitting there, and we're just thinking out loud." He glanced to Shell, "Our thoughts just so happen to sound like they're a conversation, there's not much we can do about that."

It took a second for Shell to laugh slightly, "That's good." He shook his head, digressing, "…but anyway, it's why the Elders never expected either of us to last this long, defiantly not me. It's why they used Wide Eyes in Nidoran to take my Luxio away. They… didn't want me to have Spirit Guardian more powerful than the Guardians of most of the Marowak before me."

He sat up, holding out the skull for Jack to see, the faintest of grins on his face, "But the Pilgrim and Maro got the Council to give me the chance I deserve. And while _she_ didn't get off easy, she still can be our strongest warrior."

Jack raised an eyebrow—if he had an eyebrow he would raise it—he spoke, incredulously, "You're… not mad at her?"

"Honestly," Shell started, glancing around, "I'm glad she's forbidden from coming downriver, but I can't just blame her for something the Council told her Maro to have her do. She was doing what she thought was right even though it hurt her to do so. I respect her for that—she deserves to be a Bone Warrior." His voice grew irked, eyes giving a flat look down to his skull, "She just needs to think a little more and not blindly follow what her Maro says—follow what her heart says. Otherwise she'll have no soul."

Shell sighed and fell silent, looking to Jack, trying to get him to say something. Jack… really couldn't. Shell was saying a lot of things and he was too tired to absorb it all right now.

"Though to be honest," Shell glanced away awkwardly, "…I was hoping I'd catch you on your return trip. I want to thank you for stopping her." He held up his right hand for a moment, almost in a hesitant wave, before he dropped it, glancing away again. "…and for helping me getting my Luxio back. This means… it means a lot for me. A whole lot."

"Um well, you're welcome," Jack fumbled. "…so you finally have a skull to wear now, right?"

Shell flinched, eyes wide, "What?! Oh, no! No-no-no! Wearing the skull of my Spirit Guardian… the Shinx, Luxio, Luxray, they're _the_ _Protectors_. I don't need that power, Squirtle! I don't think I can handle even handle it yet! And… besides, there's a reason I don't wear a proper skull. …most don't…" Shell swallowed his words and sighed, sitting back down. He suddenly blinked, realizing how long he had spoken.

"I'm sorry," the Cubone mumbled, rubbing his eyes through the skull, "The… Pilgrim left last night without saying goodbye to us and the other Marowak dismantled our camp before we could. And our Maro is still busy dealing with the other Hatchlings… I have a lot on my mind." He scoffed, amused, running a hand over the cracks in the skull again. "Much like you always seem to be." Shell rolled his eyes at himself, "I've went on for long enough, your turn."

"Well…" Jack glanced away, "I gotta tell my Dad something important. Really important." He glanced to the water. "…the river is going to dry up."

Shell bolted upright, choking on his words, "…r-really? Is the lake that low? …when Maro brought me my Luxio, he mentioned the Seers heard the Spirits whispering of rain soon." He glanced up. "I don't think its tonight, doesn't feel like rain. Squritle, you're blessed by the Water-Spirits, what do you think?"

"Umm," Jack hesitated, looking around. "I never usually feel the rain coming… not until it's about to start. I'm usually in the water anyway…. Maybe someone in town has a forecast or something."

Shell nodded, mindlessly tracing the cracks on the Luxio skull. "Well," He chuckled, "best if I feel it first. I'm still only a hatchling, I'd wash away if it was raining…" He frowned, "…raining Persians and Poochyenas…? …um…?"

"You got it right," Jack laughed silently, shaking his head, "I never understood that one either. Anyway, I… I gotta get going. My Mom's gonna start worrying."

"Right, sorry," Shell sighed, nodding. "You have your duties to go to. But… um… thanks… thanks again."

"Uh, yeah. No-no problem," Jack nodded back, stepping back into the stream. "Yeah, I mean. I couldn't just sit around and, um. And I'm glad things worked out. Nice, um…. Nice talking to you. See you around, I guess."

"Yeah, it was nice. Goodbye," Shell nodded and, again, half-waved. Jack nodded one final time and turned to march through the trickling water. Behind him, the Cubone's head slowly dropped to rest his forehead against the skull's.

The first raindrops started a few minutes after Jack returned to his family's den. It lightly showered all through the night and dawn was announced with distant thunder.


	12. One to Another

twelve

One To Another

Joshua fell silent for a second, blinking blearily a few times. Then a few more. He shook his head, things finally coming back into focus. A quick glance up towards the entrance of the tunnel showed no light illuminating the rocks. Granted, there wasn't that much light up there to begin with, but the little that was there had faded.

Somewhere along the way night had fallen.

He bit his lip and stifled a yawn, eyes blurring for moment.

The Dewott shook it off again, looking back to his sole listener. Her eyes were still lost in the fire.

Joshua sighed, glancing away. "…one final part," he said. "I'll make it quick."

* * *

As the sun neared its highest point in the sky, the clouds gave way and allowed a stunning, unblemished blue sky to smother the land in a humid haze, the day's rain baking away in the afternoon sun. And, just like they met after Shell's fight with Luxia, Jack and Zoey were up in their tree. And just like last time, Zoey wasn't too happy.

"Okay. That's it! You're not going anywhere without me anymore!"

And, back up in their tree, Zoey swatted at Jack from her branch. Jack leaned just out of her flailing reach.

"Zoey…."

"Seriously!" Zoey pouted, "This is the _second_ time you ran into him walking up and down that river! And what, you have an actual two-sided conversation with him!"

"It was still mostly him, though," Jack mumbled. "I mean, he asked a few questions and I tried to answer them—"

"_He_ asked _you_ questions?!" Zoey groaned, "Come on, Jack! You're practically best friends with the bonehead, _you _should be asking _him_!"

"Zoey, he just wanted to say thanks…." He faded off. Jack glanced to Zoey, pointing. Shell stood at the entrance of his den, looking across the plains. After a minute, he dropped his club and darted back inside. Jack and Zoey exchanged confused glances. "…he got his Luxio stuff back. Since we kinda helped him in that, he thanked me."

"Well, he still needs to thank me!" Zoey scoffed, sticking her nose up. "I didn't get clubbed for nothing, you know!"

Jack sighed, rolling his eyes, "He said to thank the Zigzagoon as well, Zoey. No need to fuss." It was little white lie, but it satisfied Zoey and she settled back in her spot.

Shell ran back out of his den, dragging a large satchel behind him. He snatched his club as he passed it and stopped on the flat part of the top of the hill, then darted back into the cave.

"There's one of the Stantler hides," Jack mumbled, then shrugged and turned back to Zoey. "No, he did say a lot. It's just…." He bit his lip for a second. "Zoey, when we saw Tyran leave—he actually left. Shell and Hatch haven't seen him since."

"Wait a sec, Samm said he talked with him in town a week or so ago. Don't tell me he didn't get Tyran's real name?"

"Samm talked with him? He didn't tell me that." Jack blinked. His eyes narrowed as he glanced away, trying to remember, "But I don't think he ever told anyone. Tyran, I mean. Everyone in school was talking about the _Marowak_. I never heard a name."

"What? _Really_? Samm said Tyran and Marsh had this big shouting match in the library the other day. Don't tell me they didn't go 'You don't get it, _Jack_! You're the only kid who'd ever talked with a Hatch, _Jack_, and you clam up! _Jack_, come on! You're, like, the closest thing he has to a friend!'"

"And he gets punished if the Marowak find out," Jack scowled, planting his head in his hands.

Shell reappeared, a pile of bones in his arms wobbling as he darted up to the satchel and unceremoniously dropped them next to it and turned to run back in—he spun and dove after a bone before it rolled down the hill. Snorting, he glanced over the bone, long and thin, and tossed it over his shoulder back to the pile before hopping up and running back into his den.

Jack shrugged, "Remember the few times we could actually hear Tyran?"

"Yeah," Zoey said, settling down on her tree branch for a nap, "Went on and on about the stuff outside the reservation. Boring stuff—not for them, yeah-yeah. But for me? Unless they were failing at stuff, snore!"

Jack rolled his eyes, "Well, they didn't understand all of it. Tyran was rushing everything. Shell just wanted me to clarify a few things."

"Figured as much." She opened an eye, "Did you tell them Tyran's little hissy fit?"

"…he would have asked how'd we know."

"You didn't even think of it," Zoey groaned, plopping her chin back down on the branch and she looked back up the hill. She gasped, jolting upright on her branch. "That's it. That's it!"

Jack jolted, quickly grabbing a branch for support. "W-what?!" Nothing was around them, Shell hadn't come back out of his den.

"Remember way back when Luxia attacked us? When we were walking down the hill, remember what Tyran said?"

Jack sat back in his tree, slowly frowning as he tried to remember. "Not really… just… something about Shell's Luxio?"

"Well… something about that he wouldn't tell the Counsel or whatever about what he found… ish."

Jack flinched, "Shell said that the Pilgrim's job is to discover stuff and bring it back to the tribe. So he wouldn't tell the Elders what he found unless Shell got his Luxio."

"But Shell got his Luxio, so what's he so mad about?" Zoey tossed a questioning glance to Jack.

"…do you actually know?"

"I'm really asking, Jack," Zoey sighed, laying back down on her branch. "I can't help but think I'm forgetting something—like we talked about this before." Jack shrugged and shook his head, sitting back down. Shell had appeared back next to the satchel, currently sifting through the bones he dropped on it and sorting them by size. A wooden hoop with a hide stretched over it and bits of charcoal were carefully set behind him.

"Faizel, and now Cyril…" Jack mumbled. "Just what is with—"

"Not this _again_," Zoey growled. "I keep telling you, back with Luxia, Tyran said: 'Why is Shell quoting legend.' It's a story of theirs. And unless you ask him, you'll never know it!"

"I know, I know. But what Tyran said when he broke his skull." Jack sat back, shaking his head, "I don't get it. He just left. He didn't even tell the Hatchlings."

"Maybe it's as simple as that. He left."

Jack scoffed, "What, he exiled himself?"

"He did break his skull," Zoey shrugged and sighed, settling back down on her branch.

Jack choked on his words, then sighed and fell silent.

Back on his hill, Shell had found a short, hollow bone and snapped it in half before driving one end into the ground so that only a small part of the open end stuck out. He then opened his satchel, pulling out several vertebrae and examining each. Finding one to his liking, he set it on the top of the bone in the ground. It fell over, he reset it, ultimately wedging the spine of the vertebrae in the hollow.

Zoey looked down to Jack, "What's he doing?" Jack shrugged.

He stepped back to the rest of the bone, picking up one and holding it up to the sky and looking down the club. He shook his head and tossed it aside, then repeated the examination with two more until he decided on one that, to Zoey and Jack, seemed just like the others.

Twirling the club in a hand, Shell stepped up to the vertebrae on its little perch and looked back over the plains. The Cubone stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders and stepped up next to the vertebra, facing it a little ways away.

Taking one end of the club in both hands, he lined the knobby bit up with the vertebrae. He pulled it back a little, then down to the vertebrae again, aligning it back up.

Zoey scoffed, "Is he doing what I think he's doing?"

Shell drew back the club and swung!

After scanning the sky, he scowled at the bone still on the tee.

"Yeah, he is," Zoey snickered. "I don't believe it."

"What's he doing?"

"He's trying to send the little bone flyin'. The bag's probably full of 'em."

"Uh, why?"

"I dunno. Couldn't find a use for the back bones? Really, what could you use them for?" Shell swung again. He missed again. "Maybe it's a game of the tribe? Maybe it's something Tryran showed them?" Swing, strike three—um, he missed again. "He's pretty sucky at—"

_Whick—thump!_

Jack slowly poked his head out of his shell. "…that hit you, Zoey?"

"Hit the tree next to us," She scowled, glaring at the Cubone as he seethed at himself, pulling another vertebrae and putting it on the tee and adjusting his grip on the club, taking a few practice swings. "You think he knows we're here. I know Tyran did since he chased the wilds off us, but he didn't seem to mind us up here. Think he told them?"

"I think Shell would have said something if he—"

_Whick!_

This one forked over and into the forest behind them.

"He _is_ aiming into the plains right?" Zoey grumbled, paws over her head.

"Think so," Jack shrugged. He flinched awake, "Oh! I forgot! Zoey, I _did_ managed to ask him something—they don't have shops! Wait, no, that's not it."

"_Jaaack_!"

"Zoey, I didn't get any sleep last night, my Dad dragged me back up the river and had a big debate with everyone up there," Jack shook his head, "…I like it better if they had a battle, Dad gets scary when he's the only one who asks nice—"

A flash of red darted below them. A Vulpix bounded up the hill, its fur a little unkempt and caked with dirt and dried mud, the mane unruly and overgrown for this weather…. And Vulpix… it is common knowledge that they are born a silver color with a single tail that splits as it grows. This one was a fairly young one, having only four and streaks of silver over its body. It stopped in front of Shell, a vertebrae in its mouth, and sat, tails slightly wagging.

Jack and Zoey gave each other incredulous glances.

Zoey spoke first, "What kind of Vulpix acts like a Poochyena—wait, are there even Vulpix here?"

Jack shrugged, "Maybe? I don't know. There's Cyndaquil by the lake, maybe there's Vulpix somewhere else? On the maps in the library, there's a big plateau on the other side of the mountains, maybe they live there."

"That's really far away, Jack."

He shrugged, "Fire Pokemon still need water to drink. Maybe it came over here because of the drought. And we both know that they actually love this weather so…"

The Vulpix lied down, placing the bone on the ground in front of Shell, looking up expectantly with deep onyx eyes. It nudged the bone to him.

"Oh, this is too much," Zoey groaned. "Jack, what _did_ you find out last night?"

"Hold on, one second."

Slowly, Shell picked up the bone—the Vulpix raised its head, following Shell as he placed it back on his tee. Glancing between the vertebrae and the Vulpix, he aimed, wound up and—_whick!_ The Vulpix shot up and down the hill, bolting into the plains after it.

The Cubone shook his head, throwing his hands up and laughed. He didn't get it either, but was as amused as Jack and Zoey.

"Why are all the wilds so weird around here?" Jack asked, looking up to Zoey.

"Jack. Last night. Spill it."

The Squirtle sighed, the sigh turning into a yawn half-way through. "…okay, okay…"

Jack fumbled through a broken and staggered version of what had happened last night. Trying to start with the exact details of the Trials and then jumping all over the conversation as he remembered it. Meanwhile, Shell uprooted his tee, grabbed several clubs, and scrambled down the hill after the Vulpix, setting up shop on the lower ground—now the red fox didn't have to run up and down the hill.

To say the Vulpix was playful was a bit of an understatement. It pounced around him, playing keep-away with the bone until it let him have it again to fire off into the field. Whatever Shell had set out to do had been completely distracted by the little—why am I saying it's little? It's a Vulpix, they're as big as he is. Little to me, yes but….

Dah, sorry.

…Vulpix. Lower ground. Distracted….

…well, safe to say this went on for the rest of the day, or at least for another hour or so. …yes, that's right—it was just an hour before sunset when Shell stopped, after an hour of a strange game of fetch between a Cubone and a Vulpix. Shell reluctantly picked up his clubs and awkwardly stood in front of the Vulpix, who was, again, begging to be played with and looking up with the eyes larger than you'd expect, nudging the vertebrae towards Shell.

Sighing, Shell picked up the bone—the Vulpix sat up, tails wagging, letting out an excited yip. Shell shook his head and held out the bone.

"Go on, take it," He urged, waving the bone in front of its nose. Slowly, the Vulpix took it. "There you go." He slowly reached out, patting it on the head and ruffled the dirt of its mane. He turned and headed up the hill, the Vulpix whining as he walked away. Ears drooping, the fox reluctantly started off back into the forest.

Shell recollected the other things he had brought out with him, softly scoffing at himself for forgetting the entire purpose of the exercise, picking up the hoop. Ah well, there was tomorrow for that. Maybe the Vulpix would come out again. He tossed the hoop into his den and gathered up the rest of his clubs, throwing them into the cave as well. He shouldered the satchel and started to teeter his way home.

"Aaack—!" _Thud_.

Shell glanced over his shoulder—Jack had fallen from his tree, his Zigzagoon friend clawing to get back on top of her perch.

Shaking his head, Shell laughed as he disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

Joshua planted his face in his hands and sighed, melting down the wall behind him. He shook his head violently, blinking harshly, and coughed.

"And that's our stopping point for tonight," He groaned, coughing as he pushed himself up. "Somehow, we've gotten through the prologue to the story at a reasonable pace." The Dewott cleared his throat, pushing off the wall, and lumbered over to the bowl of water.

Cubone's eyes followed him. "That… was just the _start_ of the story?" She asked quietly.

"It is a long story," Joshua said, shrugging, trying to find his reflection in the water.

"How long—" Cubone scoffed and fumed as Joshua stuck his head in the bowl, sending water spilling over the sides. It was a shallow bowl—the back half of his head stuck out, ears included. They twitched in disappointment and he snorted under the water. "How long is the story?"

Joshua sat back, weariness on his face no matter how much he tried to blink it away. "At a few hours a day? Several days. I can only keep the ear of those listening for so long." He looked down into the bowl at what little water was left. Still no reflection, just flickers of the firelight. "And I can only talk for so long as well. This isn't a short little SpiritTale they tell at the Caverns, and the morals it teaches are many." He sighed, setting the bowl back onto the floor, "…sometimes I wish I could write this all down, but Pokemon are more willing to sit and listen than read."

Shaking his head, Joshua pushed himself back to his feet wandered, watching Cubone as she curled her tail around herself.

"Are you okay?" Joshua asked, sitting down next to her. "You've been quiet ever since I mentioned Cubone and Marowak living outside the tribe. …with how the story progresses in the future, I genuinely don't know if it's something you just never thought about, something your tribe never told you or—"

Her voice was barely heard, but cut off Joshua all the same, "They said we'd never survive outside the tribe."

"…from your surprise of how long the Exile lived, that is what I thought," Joshua sighed, eyes drooping. "I was hoping otherwise."

"What are they like?"

"Hmm?"

"The Cubone and Marowak… …what are they like? Do… do they wear skulls…?"

Joshua laughed softly, "Yes. Yes, they do wear bone skulls and wield bone clubs. They wouldn't be Cubone or Marowak without them, would they?" He rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck, "Are they a tribe? No, they're a part of the regular society of Pokemon. Are they much like you? In a sense, yes, they are. They are hunters—they have to be, it's part of who they—" He jumped as lightning fell just outside the den's entry, scrambling backwards slightly. He sighed, "It is part of who they are. …much like a big part of who I am doesn't like being struck by lightning. Again, I thank your hospitality."

He huffed, shaking his head as he stood back up. He blinked harshly.

"Now then," he said, voice faltering as he made his way back to his spot next to his rutsack. "Along with being a storyteller, I am very good at hiding my fatigue. I had far more encounters with angry wilds on my way here, and the fact that I'm falling asleep on my feet means just that. My apologies for cutting our conversation short, but I simply have no strength left," He collapsed into the wall, skidding down the rock, unconsciously winding the strap of the rutsack around his arm. "I ask that you will excuse me."

He fell asleep before his eyes closed, leaning slightly into his bag.

Cubone huffed, shaking her head incredulously. She pushed herself up, creeping over to the Dewott. Then, very carefully, poked at his foot with her club. He limply kicked it away and sniffled in his sleep, but he was completely out of it.

She stepped away, pacing around the fire.

"…why should I believe you?" She asked silently as she started to fume. "All I have is your word—that you're here to see the Council. That your story is really true. But a storyteller's word is anything but a truth. A storyteller has a reason for everything. Everything they say, do, and act. They _live_ a story of their own." She froze for an instant, glancing away with doubtful eyes for a moment. She shook her head.

"Even if you're telling a true story—if it actually happened. If you've told this story over and over and over, why do you not see that… that Tyran saw how backwards my Tribe is! However many years ago, he saw it _then_! If they didn't listen to him—a _Pilgrim_, why would they listen to you!?"

Joshua slept soundlessly, his head slowly lolling onto his shoulder.

She snorted, pacing away from the fire only to stop mid-step.

"Unless you _do_ know they won't…." Cubone turned. "So why are you here…? " Her eyes moving to the bag. "…the satchel… just what is inside it?"

She bit her lip, watching for any sign that the Dewott might wake. Slowly, she dropped to all fours and silently crept around the fire.

The rutsack was as tall as she was and longer still, the material slightly waxy. It wasn't a hide... and she couldn't find the opening—it was right there on the side when he opened it earlier! So where did it go? It's just this odd zig-zagy metal decoration… nothing! The bag was packed tightly though, it wouldn't give no matter where she poked.

Fine then. There were other ways to skin a Sentret.

She skittered away to her storage cubbyholes, to the one closest to the mouth of the cave that didn't have a wooden cover, the one where she stored her clubs. Running her fingers over the notches on the end, she pulled one out, smirking at the sharp edge and point.

Some ways a bit more literal than others.

Hiding from Joshua on the other side of the bag, she tested the wall of the bag. It didn't feel like she could saw through it cleaning, so she looked for a void or something that gave way on the other side. All she needed was just enough give—a soft spot so she can cut through the hide without ruining the edge of the blade and she'll be golden. There was something large and flat on the other side, something that ran most of the length of the bag, then another object that ran the rest. Both didn't give way, but there was a faint gap between the two, good enough her.

_pop_

She froze. Slowly, peered around the side of the bag. It came from the fire but that wasn't the usual fire crackling. More like a….

The small scalchop that Joshua had put on the rock had opened.

…was… was it supposed to open? She crawled around the bag and glanced at Joshua—still asleep.

The scalchops on him didn't even seem like they could open. Then again, neither did the little one. Cubone cautiously approached it, quickly setting her club down and carefully lifted it off of the rock. In her hands, it was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and the clamshell had only opened ever so slightly. As she looked it over, something fell out from within, flitting down to the rock floor behind her.

A white, square leaf. Very smooth and it glinted strange patterns in the light.

She glanced up—Joshua hadn't moved at all.

Setting down the scalchop, she carefully took the white leaf by the corner and turned it over. Blinking, she tilted her head and carefully held it in the firelight.

"Spirits…."

Such a small painting on the white leaf… …so many colors and such detail…. This was far beyond anyone in her tribe could do, even the highest of the Seers—it was so lifelike.

…two Pokemon with white heads, blue-furred bodies, and seashells on their chests— Oshawotts, huddled together for the painting. And the one on the right had to be Joshua—the one with a standing proudly with a wide, warm grin and the odd tuff of fur on the back of his head jutting out at an odd angle. The other, the female, was laughing at Joshua, half-elbowing him in the side coly as she stood next to him. Such a strange pose to capture the two in, but so amazingly detailed and colorful… Behind them were large, angular formations of rock and wood and around a grassy garden of flowers.

Lattices of wood and stone, set in patterns to repel the weather and hold the warmth in the winter, and cool in the summer. That was a town. Someplace outside the Reservation.

Cubone looked between the painted leaf and Joshua, half-seeing the resemblance between the two but still wondered if the two were really the same Pokemon.

"…why is something like this in a seashell…?" She whispered, looking deep into the painting. "Why is this not in a sacred place?" She looked back to Joshua; he had slumped more heavily into his rutsack. …it had taken him a long while to find the shell to begin with. If he was truly a storyteller, traveling throughout the lands… the only thing with him was the satchel and his story.

Cubone looked back to the shell. It was most likely the same one Joshua was had in the painting. She squinted and held it closer; an Oshawott carries its shell on its chest. This painting was in the shell, she shell on his chest; he had carried it next to his heart.

And Joshua had given it to her.

_Why_ would he given it to her? Such a powerful and sacred painting, kept as close to the heart as he could, given to a mere Hatchling he barely knows? That he happened upon by chance on his way to see the Council who surely won't listen to him?

They won't listen to him….

Slowly, she looked over to the other tunnel, the one leading back to her Spirit Chamber.

Taking the shell in one hand and the leaf in the other, she sat down at her spot near the fire. She watched the light flickering off of the waxy coating of the leaf, not seeing the shapes as the cavern around her and the fire faded away.

There was something…. Something… about this that seemed so familiar….

"Knowing Teller," she whispered as the memory came, closing her eyes. "Can you share with me a story?"

"_Oh, my little Hatchling,"_ echoed a voice from years ago, the face not surfacing yet._ "You've heard so many." _Warm amber eyes slowly appeared, flickering in a fire, looking down to her, the small, little hatchling._ "So many, in fact, I have shared all I can to a Yearling."_

"Then share with me again one you've told me before," Cubone whispered. The skull of a Froslass formed over the eyes and rest of the old Marowak followed, cradling the Yearling in her arms with only the fire for company. "Tell me the one of Cyril and Faizel and Soul."

"Very well, little one." The storyteller smiled and pulled a clay pot out of the darkness.

"Long ago, before we sent our Hatchlings out into the world to be tested by the Spirits, we hid them away from the world, away and safe from the outside. And when it came to prove their worth and power to the tribe, only then did we send our children out to hunt for the strongest wilds they could. Many brought back Rattata and 'goons and Bidoof and similar. Some brought back Shinx; a few, Luxray; rarer still, Buizel and Floatzel." The clay pot was passed the little Cubone, whose hand was guided by the Storyteller for a handful of the Dust of Dreams.

"And then there was the one named Cyril, and the tribe was in awe of him. For you see, Cyril had cast off the curses of the Spirits. For he, Cyril, as a little Cubone, had singlehandedly slain a mighty Tropius." Together, they threw the ashes on the fire and the smoke billowed up to the ceiling, forming signs and shapes and colors.

"This, my little one, is the Three Spirit Tale."

* * *

**This marks the end of the first part of the story. Consider the next chapter to be an intermission, written in January (of 2013, keep in mind this was before the Fairy Type and the Gen VI stuff was leaked/released).**

**Thanks for reading.**


	13. The Three Spirit Tale

thirteen

The Three Spirit Tale

When the little Marowak brought forth the news to the Tribe that he had killed a Tropius and needed help to bring it to the Caverns, there was great confusion. Cyril had returned with no prize in tow and while others lamented and made excuses over their failures, no one returning from their Hunt had ever dared boasted they had brought down such a beast! Twenty Marowak went with him, some out of disbelief, some to see the sight for themselves. Soon, one returned, cailling for twenty more to aid them. And they returned with Tropius on their backs, Cyril himself leading the way.

The moment they returned to the Caverns, there was a celebration like never before. So large was the Tropius, it couldn't fit into the caves in one piece! The whole tribe feasted for seven days and there was still more to be had! Every single one of the Marowak seizing a bone from the Tropius and breaking it themselves to show that they too had the strength Cyril had over such a beast!

And so the Elders cried, "Where is Cyril? Where is the Marowak who has overcome the trials and curses the Spirits set forth upon us? Where is he so we may prepare him to be our Chief and lead our Tribe to throw off the curses the Sprits have placed upon us so that we all may prey on Tropius as he did?"

But they didn't find him, for when the all the Cubone gathered to evolve that year before setting out to prove their worth on their Great Hunt, he met and fell in love with Soul, who was to tell stories to the Hatchlings and to learn medicine.

You see, Soul was blessed with the voice of Cresselia herself, and ever since Cyril met her, he sat with the hatchlings every day to listen to her, the little ones gathering around and in his lap as the stories went on. She had though he would stop once the feasting started, but there he was all the same. On the third day of the feast, she told the elders of his hiding place and finally confronted him.

"How silly are you," she scoffed at him, "sitting with the little ones. Do you not know the Elders search the caves for you? Do you not know they wish you to be Chief?"

He answered her, "I do know. But truly, these little ones do not know how lucky they are. Indeed, I would rather be scorned by a Togekiss than instructed by Regigigas himself. And truly, even if Regigigas were to show me how to pull the moon far in the sky down to this earth, I would have no need of it, for Cresselia herself already stands before me. I only ask, that I stand by her side, and she, mine."

She was taken aback; what could she do? While they had only met so briefly at the Evolution Rituals, she certainly remembered him as a clumsy fool who stuttered and couldn't look her in the eye, but charming all the same.

And here he was, again the clumsy fool but at least he could meet her eye now. And he had been ignoring the feasting going on, the feast in his honor, to sit with the Hatchlings in her care, sharing with them and her the fruit of Tropius. He aided in her storytelling when she stumbled and danced with her as she acted the tales. And never was there a group of Hatchlings so enthralled by the stories they shared.

Somewhere along the way she had fell in love with him as well, but only now did she realize it. So truly, what could she do but say yes?

So she did, embracing him for a moment before pushing him out of the room and into the waiting arms of the Elders, who then carried him off to ready him for receiving the title of Chief.

Now Cyril's most loyal friend had the name of Faizel, and Faizel became friends with Soul as she tried to pry Cyril away from the Elders when she could. But when she couldn't, she and Faizel walked the caves of the caverns where Faizel sharing with her his and Cyril's long and clumsy adventures during their Great Hunts. And Soul shared her dreams of showing the hatchlings the sky, the sun, and the trees and the flowers.

"They ask me, how big a cavern is the sky and if we can tunnel through it? Who paints the stars on the night sky? Who sets fire to the moon to turn it into the sun and extinguishes it again to the moon? These aren't things I can simply tell them, Faizel. They must see them. See them before their Great Hunt. Else they would be like us, terrified by the sight."

"It is odd to hear that from a Teller," Fiazel said after she told him. "You carry the warnings and the tales of woe our tribe has had outside these caves. And yet you wish to go against them?"

"The stories are old," she replied. "Older than our mothers' fathers' grandmothers. What once was, might not be anymore. You tell me how you and Cyril hunted, making sure you _just_ miss prey so have warrant to chase it and explore. All I ask is to tell stories in the sunshine, not in the dark. But the Elders will never listen to the dreams of the little ones, will they?"

"But will they listen to Cyril?" Faizel asked, but they already knew the answer and waited for Cyril in silence.

Yes, Soul and Cyril, a pair so perfect for each other, the Spirits haven't seen anything like them since. As Faizel had always seen Cyril as his brother, he soon saw Soul as his sister, and with their happiness came his own.

So when an earthquake struck the caves mere days before Cyril was to become Chief, it was Faizel who told him that one of the Hatchling chambers had collapsed, and Soul couldn't be found.

Immediately Cyril ran to the tunnels leading to her chamber, throwing the crowd aside until he reached the cave-in. Without even noticing, he hurled away the boulders the strongest Marowak struggled to move, tossing them aside.

Slowly, the entire tribe gathered in the hall, pushing and ferrying away the rocks as he tossed them aside. For the entire night, he worked frantically, until he finally found her, her lifeless body curled around the frightened hatchlings, protecting them from the rocks. On seeing Cyril they cried, but they refused to leave her.

Weary from the many hours only to find her dead, Cyril collapsed. He put his head to hers, and wept until morning.

Slowly, he stood, throwing down his skull and beating on his chest, his heart broken. "Is this how the Sprites spite me!?" He roared to the cave. "I overcome their challenges that they put upon us, so in return they kill my Soul?"

Faizel threw his skull down next to his. And the Tribe started to as well, but Cyril turned.

"No! Do not throw down your skulls! Do not beat on your chests in anger or in misery!"

"But Cyril," said Faizel. "What else can we do? The Spirits have taken her from us."

Cyril picked up his and Faizel's skulls pushed Faizel's into his hands, "Indeed they have," Cyril put his skull back on his head. "Hear me, my Tribe! I will not stand by any more as the Spirits mock us! If they wish to take her, I will take her back!"

"Then I will help," said Faizel, putting his skull back on as well.

"As will we!" cried the Tribe. "For Soul was dear to us too!"

"No!" said Cyril, stopping them. "What of us if they strike us all down? No, only the two of us will go to the Deep Caverns to seek the Spirits below. Bring us something to carry her on. We will not be long and when we return, she will be walking with us."

Out of the crowd came a litter of tree branches and hides and Cyril and Faizel moved Soul's body onto it. The Tribe parted and the two carried her through them without a word. As they passed, the Marowak raised their skulls in respect.

Down and down the two Marowak went. Down past the Hatchling dens. Down past the storytellers. Down past the elders. Down, down, down. All without a word.

Down until they reached the bottommost caverns, where no light came from above and their own torch was swallowed up and extinguished by the darkness.

And Faizel spoke uneasily, "Cyril, are you sure about this? If we enter the world of the Spirits, who says we can come back?"

"I have no need of living if I do not have my Soul," answered Cyril. "But I understand if you do not wish to follow."

"Just like you are like my brother, Soul was like my sister," said Faizel. "I cannot let my brother make a journey like this and I cannot allow my sister to be stolen of her life. Let us go."

And so they walked into the Deep Caverns, a series of carved caves and chambers that were here long before our Tribe came to be and no one knows who made them. It is a place to this day no Marowak goes, and no Marowak returns. A place where the walls seem to shift when you look away and a place so sacred, so fearsome, you could hear the Spirits whispering to each other.

And it was those whispers the two followed, searching for the entrance to the Spirit World that was somewhere in the Deep. Empty chamber after empty chamber, their breaths echoing and their footsteps deafening.

No one knows how long they searched, maybe minutes, maybe years; time has no meaning in the Deep Caverns, but suddenly the caverns fell away and they suddenly found themselves walking through a forest with trees as high as the sky, glimmering in a sun than neither could see. The ground, laced with glimmering dew that never faded but shown like the stars.

And all around them, the spirits of departed Pokémon wandered, confused, not seeing each other or the Marowak even as they walked through them, every spirit headed in the same direction. On the Marowak walked until they found an empty clearing near a pond.

At last, they stopped, setting Soul's body down at the shore of the pond. Then Cyril stepped forward and he shouted, "Spirits that rule our world, I summon you!"

One by one, fifteen lights floated into the clearing circling the three. Fire, Water, Trees, Earth, Rock, Poison, Might, Mind, Bug, Ice, Dragon, Flight, Spark, the Spirit of Spirits, and the Spirit of All. Indeed, the Spirits of the world had heard him and heeded his call.

"Why do you summon us?" One said, "Why are you here? You do not belong here, not yet."

"Where is the Spirit that rules over the Trees, the Grass, and the Flowers?" Cyril demanded, ignoring their question. "And where is the Spirit that affiliates itself with my tribe? The Spirit of the Soil, the Earth?

The light of deep green floated before them, and out of it stepped a Meganium of the same color, eyes glowing and its mane of flowers flourishing, the lifepollen of the plants of the world scattering from the buds. Where the lifepollen touched the ground, flowers immediately bloomed. It spoke, "I am the Spirit of the Trees, the life of the world."

Likewise, the brown light followed, forming into a Hippowdon, the very creator of the dirt, the soil, and our own scales. It grumbled, "I am the Spirit of Earth, the source of the soil. Why do you summon me, Marowak? Do you rebuke my blessing?"

"No, almighty Spirit. May all others present bear witness that I accuse the two of you conspiring against, not against those you bless as a whole, not my Tribe, but me and me alone!"

The two spirits looked at each other before saying, "We do not understand."

"I," announced Cyril, "having been blessed by the Spirit of the Earth, have claimed the life of a Tropius, a Pokemon blessed by the Spirit of the Trees. By the blessings and curses attributed between the two of you, this should not have happened, yes? This goes against the law you demand every Pokemon to follow. I have broken it, and now she is dead. Therefore, I accuse you of reaping your revenge upon me! What say you!?"

The Spirits around them grumbled but the pink light moved forward. From the Spirit of the Mind floated Mew itself and it stopped in between the two parties.

"Marowak," the Mew said, not in words, but to their very thoughts, "The blessings and curses we put down upon all the Pokemon in the world are not a law to be upheld. If your slaying of a Tropius makes you think you disrupted an agreement between these two Spirits, then you are mistaken. There are no agreements or conflicts between us. Only the pact in which we have agreed on how the world shall work lest it fall to Chaos.

"Indeed. You have slain a Tropius despite the advantages it had against you. We are not angry with you, Marowak. Nor do we congratulate you. You are but one Pokémon in a world of many. If we were to enforce our agreements as law and punish those who work against it, what would life be like for the living? If a Luxray defends its Shinx against one of your own, are we to punish it for a love so strong she would sacrifice herself for the life her child? No. We put our pact upon the world to bring it out of Chaos, not to force it in deeper into the darkness. But it is not truely law, and you have broken nothing."

Cyril then shouted, "Then where is the Spirit who controls the rock?"

Out of the dark grey light formed an Onix, "I am the Spirit of Stone, the forger of mountains. What do you accuse me of?"

"I accuse you of sending an earthquake through our Caverns!" cried Cyril. "I accuse you of murdering my Soul with the very rock of our home!"

"The walls of your home are indeed my creation, but what the ground beneath your feet does is of its own power," the Onix said. "It is not of mine. It is not of anyone's but of the very world itself. If a tree where to fall from the wind on your kin, do you blame the one who planted it?"

"Then I blame the wind!" Cyril threw down his skull, "Who do I summon to demand retribution from?! Do I go seek your familiar, Regirock? Groudon, who aided in the forging of the lands? Or so far to even hunt down Regigigas, the one who moves the very world!? Each and every one of them and more has the power! If I must, I will find every one of them and I will not rest until have someone to pay for this crime against me! So who has done this!?"

"There is no one," said Mew. "I am sorry, but there are times where no one is at fault. And the only thing you can do is move on."

Cyril had the word been spoken aloud, Cyril's rage only would have continued. But the Mew spoke to his mind, and mind-speak shares a connection unlike any other. The Mew's words were the truth, and his rage turned to anguish and fell to his knees and wept.

Holding back his own tears, Faizel stepped forward, "If we cannot find retribution, then I ask you, lead us to her spirit so we may bring her back to the living world. Do this at least."

But the Spirits fell silent.

"Please, tell us where to look," Faizel begged. "That is all I ask, and we will find her ourselves."

The green Meganium disappeared into a green light, as did the brown Hippowdon to its brown light, as did the grey Onix to its dark grey light. In the silence, they all slowly left.

"I am sorry," Mew said, watching Cyril grieve over his Soul. "But that cannot happen. Returning her to the world of the living would be disastrous. Returning any spirit without a guide to the world of the living would be disastrous. It could undo everything we have done and plunge the world back into Chaos."

"But we have her body right here," Faizel exclaimed. "All we need is… all we need is Soul herself! We shall be her guides! Please! Let us bring her back to the ones she loves! To the little ones that wake up and are so excited to see her and the stories she brings! To the wounded who see her smile and know their wounds will be healed! To the Marowak who sees her as a sister, and to the Marowak who cannot live without her! I beg of you! We beg of you! Our Tribe begs of you! Let us do this! Let her return to us. It is all we ask… please."

"I am sorry," Mew said, fading into its pink light. "It is not as simple as that. All life must end at one point, and returning those that have passed to the living… it cannot be allowed to happen. It is best that the two of you leave, while you still can. Farewell."

And the final Spirit left, leaving Faizel calling after it, and Cyril deep in mourning.

Now Faizel alone stood in the world of the Spirits, where the trees stretched to beyond the sky and the dew never ended, where the spirits of the dead walked through and around them, where he truly did not belong. It pained him and he cried, but the Mew was right. It was time to leave. Slowly, pulled Cyril away.

"No!" He shouted and pushed Faizel away. "No, I said I would not return without her! I will stay here. I will look for her. Faizel, return to the world above, the Tribe still needs someone to lead them."

"I will not leave you here," said Faizel, redoubling his efforts but was thrown off.

"Leave, now!" cried Cyril. "As your friend, as your brother, I ask you. My life is nothing without her. Faizel… go."

But before Faizel could respond, a bright silver light floated into the clearing.

"I hear the call!" it announced. "Who summons me?"

"Who asks?" Faizel asked carefully while Cyril mourned. "All of the other Spirits have left."

The light scoffed, "Pah! Here I was on the other side of this realm—one would think they would have the courtesy to wait for me. Who am I? I am the Spirit that rules over the metal in the earth. Copper! Iron! They are all under my domain!"

"I have never heard of such a Spirit before," Faizel truthfully said.

Again the light scoffed, "And it does not surprise me! The Fifteen have sealed me here in the world of spirits because they do not think the world is ready for me. I _disagree_! The world is always ready for progress, it just has to know it _can_ progress!" It paused, finally noticing Cyril and Soul. "Oh… oh… My manners, my… my deepest, dearest apologies. In my haste, I did not notice…. May I ask why I have been summoned…?"

"We have lost our Soul in an earthquake in the world above," answered Faizel, motioning to the two. "We came here to seek answers and to bring her back with us."

"And the others have denied you both," the silver light sighed, saddened by their plight. "I am afraid that none of us Spirits are responsible for such earthquakes, as they had told you. But I may be able to help you with finding her."

Cyril looked up, "But the others said there was nothing to be done. That if we bring her back..." Cyril's voice failed him and he sat back on the ground, remorseful anger in his eyes.

The light floated to him, "Ever since we pulled your world out of the Chaos, the others have to deal with issues in the world above. In doing such, they have deal in with the many; the hundreds, the thousands. Never the one, the two, the few. You do not wish to restore your entire people, just the one you hold dearest. Will this disturb the natural balance? Not enough to matter. It may take many years, but equilibrium will be established again.

"The others are afraid that if they let one Pokemon live again, they will allow another. And another. Soon the rest will grow restless and become uncontrollable and _fight_ for that one chance to live again, so that those like yourselves who do not belong here may very well have your Paths to the world above stolen and taken. They would have your life to live as theirs and there would be no balance between life and death. The line would blur like dreams turning into the day, and the world will fall back into Chaos.

"However. No one who truly belonged here has returned to the world above before. Therefore, I will do what I can to ensure just one—_just_ her and _only_ her can rejoin the living, even if I must refuse anyone with a heart broken as yours at a later time. In return, I need you to do something for me."

Cyril stood up, "Tell me. What price must I pay?"

Very quietly, it whispered to him, "It's not a price. No one ever deserves this. Ergo, leading you to her is the least I could do. No, all I ask is that you aid me in my escape from being sealed here, and you and your people will be the first to have my own blessing—the blessing of Iron."

"Then it is no matter," Cyril dismissed the light, walking away, "I am not here for blessings."

"Then this is for you to think about," the light said. "Iron is very, very strong. With your scales imbued with metal, what can hurt you? Water? No. Mere leaves? Certainly not! The cold? No, in fact, Iron shatters Ice. You are resistant to Poison, but to Iron, it is nothing. The other spirits seal me here because they know that anyone with my blessing cannot be harmed by anyone with theirs."

"I say again, Spirit: I am not here for blessings," Cyril said, the words hard to say. "If the Spirits kept you here for a reason, then I follow their reasoning for I cannot comprehend their affairs. It is not for me to make such judgments; I am here for my Soul, and only for my Soul. Nothing else. The least I need is a reason for the Spirits to truly evoke revenge upon us, and my people will be the ones we see here."

"I only say for you to dwell upon," the light said, floating away from them and towards the edge of the clearing. "Now then. Follow me." And so the two Marowak did, carrying their precious cargo with them.

The silver light led them through the trees, across rivers, and through a lake—how strange it was for the two to walk through the water and not feel it washing them away! It was like the air, but dense. With Soul, the two sunk to the bottom and walked through the silt below.

"This may very well be what every Pokemon in the sea feels like, Cyril!" Faizel whispered in awe.

"Do not speak so loud," Cyril whispered back, "Of the many lessons the Elders have taught us, generosity amongst Spirits was not one of them. Be wary, Faizel. Be very wary."

"But just think, Cyril!" Faizel whispered again, watching the spirits of Magikarp swim by. Then the two froze in fear as a great Gyarados darted over them. They started moving again when it had disappeared. "…this is what they feel every day, up there in the world. I _am_ wary, Cyril, but I cannot help but wonder."

Cyril laughed hollowly at the thought, "And what Marowak would we be with the blessing of the Water Spirit? Exchanging our clubs for seashells?! _Ha!_ No, we make no deals. We make no pacts. We are here for Soul and Soul alone. And when we find her, we return the same way we arrived."

"But how, Cyril?" Faizel whispered in a panic, "We've been walking underwater for such a long time now and everything looks so much the same down here. The Spirit has changed direction so many times that I've lost track of where we are."

"Have you not noticed that the spirits of the dead all move in the same direction?" Cyril said quietly. "Indeed, this Spirit of Iron has turned us around several times, but finding our way back across is not as hard as it would seem. Also, I have been leaving a faint trail in the dew. And it seems our impressions on this world would not fade away easily, nor seen easily, but it is there if we look. We follow it back, scattering the dew again so nothing can follow us. And then we never return."

Finally, out of the lake the Spirit led them. And Cyril called forward to it, "Spirit, we have been walking for a long time." A pack of Rattata emerged from the bush, slowly walking through them all. Just as Cyril had said, every deceased spirit they had seen had been moving in the same direction, and these were no exception. "Surly she couldn't have been this far."

The Spirit slowed and said, "I, myself, cannot find where your Soul has appeared in this world—see what prison this is for me? Locked in a fate to watch the departed pass on but helpless to prevent them arriving to begin with! Oh, but do not worry! There is but yet another Spirit who the Fifteen shuns. Or rather a Spirit that shuns the Fifteen! The Nameless Spirit looms near."

"How do you know?" Cyril asked. "Why had it not answered my call?"

"The Nameless Spirit is not concerned with the world above," The light said. "For its domain is this one. Do you not see how all the spirits of the Pokémon move towards the Great Light here? Ah, yes. You cannot see it as it is for it is not truly your time. It is such a great distance from where we are, but they know where they are going. It is the Nameless Spirit and its familiars that pacify those who arrive in a rage, and direct them towards the Great Light, to the next world."

"And it is a world you will see when it is your time. Not before," a new voice said, very quiet, very calm. The Nameless Spirit floated to them, a light of darkness. Of nothing. "What brings you to the Spirit World before your time? No, you need not answer, I only assume it is this. You may join us now."

And Cyril saw her, the spirit of his Soul stepping from the trees, just like he last saw her in the world above.

Tears became over them as they ran to each other and they embraced.

And Cyril cried, "I have come for you, my Soul. Look! See! I am here to bring you back with me!"

The Nameless Spirit sighed, "Sadly, this cannot be. Only two of you may return—"

"Then I will stay!" Faizel said quickly. "Let her take my Path to the Living, and I will stay!"

The Nameless Spirit spoke before Cyril could, "Your Path to the Living is not hers, she cannot take it, and she herself does not have one. She must stay."

Cyril threw down his skull, anguish filling his voice, "But we have come so far! We are here for only her, not for every single Pokemon here! The Spirit of Iron—it said it is possible for us to return her—just her, to the world above!"

The Nameless Spirit floated down to him, "…are you not aware that the Spirit of Iron had left us the moment I appeared?" The three Marowak looked and saw it was true. "She has no Path, and it was everything in my power to protect both of yours. Could she return? Not as you intend. And for that, she must stay. …but even as we speak, the Spirit of Iron has somehow found a way into the world above." It floated away as Cyril and Faizel looked at each other.

"The way back," Cyril said in terrible realization. "It had heard us and followed it to the point where we entered." He stormed over to his skull and picked it back up. He looked up to see a spirit forming in the brush and recoiled in fear.

It was an Eevee, but not an Eevee. It had no ears, nor did it have any eyes, just rippled metal over its head. Parts of its fur were fused into spikes of iron like a Jolteon while others formed metal plates. The tail half-forming into a metal blade. It had the mane of a Glaceon but only on one side, promptly toppling it while the forelegs were unable to bend at all.

The Eevee couldn't stand with the rear legs or even lift its head. Even here, in the Spirit World, it whimpered in pain.

The Nameless Spirit moved to it, whispering unknown words to the creature.

Faizel stepped up to Cyril, as did Soul. Faizel spoke, "Already the Spirit is starting to give its blessing—but this is not a blessing! If this is truly the progress the Spirit spoke of, Cyril, what then?! What have we done!?"

The Nameless Spirit called to them, "Do not hold this one against the Spirit of Iron. It, like all of us Spirits, only wishes to help the world above. No matter what it had told you, it was of its own will and foresight to not embark with the other Fifteen to bless Pokemon. But its priorities have been… lost during these millennia. …and look, here are the others."

Indeed the Fifteen Spirits floated around them again. But before any of them could speak, the light of the Nameless Spirit enveloped the Eevee. And, from the light, out stepped the first Umbreon, red eyes opening to meet them and its glowing like every Umbreon after it would.

"You are all Spirits," The Umbreon announced to the Fifteen, "As am I. However, this world is my Domain, as we have agreed so long ago. Therefore I have granted these two protection for the remainder of their stay here and any move against them would be a move against me.

"This said, you all are here because these two have unwittingly unleashed the Spirit of Iron on the world above. Yet if it wasn't these two, it would have been others at a later time, and perhaps the Spirit of Iron would not have made only one mistake if it was released in the future."

None of the Spirits spoke against the Umberon for they all knew it spoke the truth.

"But what of the Spirit of Iron?" Faizel asked. "If it was as strong as it said it was—"

The Spirit of the Earth stopped him, "It only tempted you with its power for you have my blessing. Your clubs are a curse upon those with its plating. Those of Fire melt them. Those of Might shatter them. Just as we had ordained long ago." The Spirit of the Earth then spoke to the Umbreon, "But you have taken a Forme now, does this mean you are to bless those in the world above? What shall we know you as, Nameless Spirit?"

The Umbreon laughed, red eyes glimmering and its fur glowed bright as its proud voice boomed, "There are already those in the world above with my blessing, you merely have overlooked them. They are as dark as the night, black as a starless sky. They are an extension of my purpose, guiding wandering spirits trapped above to this world below so they may finally have rest in the next." the Umbreon said. "I am the Spirit of the Night and of the Dark. The Spirit of the Dead." It glanced to the three Marowak, "The Spirit of Souls."

"Do you then mean to return this one to the world above?" The pink light asked.

"If I cannot, then I cannot," Soul spoke to the lights. "Truly, I only had one wish, and that was to see Cyril one final time. The Spirit of Dark has granted me that wish, so I will stay." She turned to Cyril, embracing him. "Go home, Cyril. Go home. Live. Club that Spirit when you can. And, most of all, remember me. Because, if I can, I'll wait for you. And then we will both go to the Great Light together. I love you, Cyril. I will always love you."

"My Soul…." Cyril said and wept into her shoulder. "I will not know how to live without you."

"Then take a part of me with you. You will always have me with you. Both with this," She lifted her skull from atop her head and pressed it Cyril's arms. "And with this," She touched him over the heart.

As they wept, the Fifteen Spirits departed, all except the Umbreon, the Spirit of the Dark. The Spirit of Souls.

Faizel spoke to it, fighting through his own tears, "Just as Cyril cannot live without his Soul, I cannot live with the thought that we have unleashed an evil on the world. If the Spirits favor us in our fight against it, are we then to hunt it down?"

"Nothing," the Umbreon said. "You need not do anything. The Spirit of Iron is not evil. Just as it is not good. Every Spirit is neither, we are merely observers. And while I have familiars at work in your world and this, I myself am but an observer as well. Still, I have no doubt that some Pokemon in the world above are now flourishing with his blessing. No, the Spirit of Iron was only misguided.

"It had forgotten that progress does not come from a bit of metal, honed to a point to maim and kill. Progress comes from growth and knowledge. And growth and knowledge are what we Spirits have given to all Pokemon when we stopped the Chaos in the world above. Was this a mistake, your coming down here? No one will know. But even if it was, even if it wasn't, you should learn from it. Yes. If that is what you are to do, then do this: return to your home and learn. Grow. Prosper."

"But learn what?" Fiazel asked. "I know everything my Tribe can teach me. The stories our tribe has passed down, hunting, tracking, combat techniques, medicine; I know them like anyone dedicated to their study for Cyril has made me his First Tribesman and it is my duties to know them. And, I have learned as much from the Elders as he has. So tell me, what could I learn?"

The Umbreon looked him in the eye, and a faint smile forming on it. "A bold and arrogant proclamation, Faizel. So, I shall tell you the first step in learning. And that is, to understand and know that you do not, in fact, know anything."

"That I do not know what?"

"You just asked a question, Faizel. If you truly know everything there is to know, do you have an answer?"

"If only because I do not understand the question."

"Dwell on it, Faizel. Dwell on it." The Umbreon approached the other two, "I do not wish to interrupt, but there are many dangers here in the Spirit World, especially for those who don't belong here. Please, it is time to say goodbye and return home. Any longer and the other souls will grow restless." It nodded toward their left.

The three of them found themselves back where they had entered the Spirit World. Cyril glanced around, spotting the path he had left, a mark every so often that lead to three unconscious Marowak. One lying on a litter, the other two at the carrying ends of it.

"Cyril," said Faizel, "That's us."

Cyril then turned to the Spirit of Dark, "I do not understand."

The Umbreon laughed, "You talk of Spirits, accuse Spirits, observe the departing souls on their way to the Great Light, and yet you do not realize you are a spirit yourself. This is how the Spirit World works, you cannot understand."

"Just now… you call the departed souls," Soul said. "And you call yourself after me? What have I done to earn this honor?"

"And again," The Umbreon turned to her and bowed in reverence, "You say this after knowing how far Cyril has come in search of you? Look. Each and every one of the ones you see passing by meant to another as you did to him. Some are wild, some are knowing. Some are fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers… each with an unrelenting love for others in their hearts. But! Only one has had such a love so eternal that he has challenged even the Spirits in its name. No, no. Soul. It is _my_ honor to take your name in the hopes that those I guide lived a life with equal virtues and selflessness that Cyril had for you and you had for the children in your care. For, in his heart, you are his Soul.

"Now then. To return home, return to your body while life still flows in its veins. However, be quick, you have not eaten in such a very long time and I _do not_ wish to see either of you again for at least another few years."

With one final embrace, Cyril and Soul stepped away from each other and Faizel said his goodbye as well.

"She has requested to wait for you, Cyril. It is a request I can fulfill, but not without a little help…"

Faizel looked from Soul and stumbled back, "Cyril! Look!" Out of the trees stepped a Tropius, mighty and great. "…Cyril, the scar along its side—that's the same Tropius you had slain! It's come to stop us—"

"Be at peace!" the Umbreon commanded, stepping between the two. "Just as Soul has decided to wait for you, Cyril, so has this Tropius. In your battle with it, it was impressed with how you fought. Yes, it was wild but even then it wishes to communicate with you, but you cannot do that while you still live. It will wait for you to arrive again—for the _final_ time." The Umbreon sighed, "And then the two of you will have much to talk about on your journeys to the Great Light. Ah, yes! I almost forgot. The same goes for you Faizel and your little Buizel. Such a lazy creature! It seems to enjoy sleeping much more here than it did in the world above."

Faizel almost asked a question when he was tackled by a Buizel. The two fell over and the Buizel sat up on his stomach, barking happily and looking down to him with exited eyes.

"I do not understand," Faizel said, "Shouldn't it be angry? I took its life and it was trying to kill me back then as well!"

"Failzel, Faizel, Faizel," the Umbreon chided. "What do you have that a wild Pokemon does not?"

Faizel hesitated, "I…. I am a knowing Pokemon."

The Umbreon's eyes gleamed, "But why? There can be two Sentret. One born a wild, the other born intelligent. Why is this? What separates the two from each other, Faizel?"

Again Faizel was at a loss for words, "I… The thought never crossed my mind, great Spirit. …I am not sure." And the look of sudden realization came upon him as stood back up, ruffling the fur of the Buziel and the Buizel stood proudly next to him. "I do not think I know."

"And in your understanding that, in fact, you know nothing, only now you can learn. See if you can. I would like to know myself, but the Mew and I aren't on speaking terms."

Cyril looked the Tropius in the eye and it looked back down to him. Slowly, it bowed its head down to Cyril. Slowly, Cyril put a hand on the Tropius' head and slowly patted it.

"You truly have no ill will against me?" He asked it. The Tropius shook its head. "Amazing. …may I ask that I can trust you to protect my Soul until I come back?" The Tropius nodded. "…I thank you. I will not forget you either. I wish it to be many years, but, when I do return, I will enjoy speaking with you."

With one final look back, and one final hug between them all, the two returned to their bodies and, before either of them could understand, they woke in the Deep Caves, famished and weak. However, the whispers of the spirits were replaced with the calling of the Marowak of the Tribe. Following their voices, the two made their way out of the Deep Caves, but not without the skull that Soul wore.

When they returned to the Tribe, there was great excitement, but sadness soon followed as they saw Soul was not with them and they threw down their skulls in anguish.

Though it cost him strength he didn't have, Cyril called out, "No! Do not throw down your skulls."

"But Cyril," they replied, "You have returned without her. The Spirits have defeated you."

"No," he answered. "No I haven't—no they haven't defeated me. Don't you see, she never left us. Soul, my Soul, your Soul. She's here, in our hearts, of every single one of us. Just as you all are in mine, and I am in all of yours. So do not grieve for her, for she can never be lost. So long as we remember her. And so long as we remember each other, no one truly dies." He collapsed and the Tribe rushed to help him up. "…which reminds me, where are the bones of the Tropius?"

"We have broken most of them," replied one of the Elders proudly. "The Spirits cannot stop our strength now! We have saved the skull for you, Cyril. Break it, and you will be our next Chief!"

"Gather them up," Cyril said. "Every one of them. Gather them all up while we recover. ...we have much to tell you."

And so the Tribe did. It took Cyril and Faizel an entire week to recover fully, only for Cyril to shut himself in highest chamber in all of the Caverns. Faizel stood guard and only entered and exited the room with food, water, and several strange things by order of his brother.

It was full a month before he called a meeting of all the Marowak and Cubone and hatchlings in the chamber that ultimately became the Council Chamber.

It was Cyril who painted the Spirit of Dark, Soul herself and the Tropius protecting her across the Chieftain's Alcove. He painted the Fifteen Spirits in what he believed to be their formes. He painted the Spirit of Iron and later repainted it to be an official Spirit in the forme of the mythical Registeel, forgiven and welcomed into the Circle of Spirits. Yes, all around the upper walls he, the first Soul Seer of the Tribe, had painted them all to remind us to never forget so they may live on inside our hearts.

Yet the Tribe thought he had gone mad.

"I am not mad!" He reassured them. "Listen to me! Listen to me and Faizel!" And he told them of what happened to them in the Deep Caverns, in the Spirit World. When he had finished, there was a silence over the room as the Tribe looked to one another.

But again, they bickered that the two had lost their minds in the Deep and Cyril's rivals called out for him to be tossed back into the Deep Caverns.

"Are you all so lost in your misunderstanding that you cannot hear us!?" Faizel threw down his skull, "All this time, we have insulted the Spirits guarding over us. We have been breaking the Tropius' bones while it showed nothing but respect for us in its afterlife. We've been content in our knowledge, happy to survive and only _just_ survive because we were terrified of the Spirits wreaking retribution.

"And truly! What have you all have done in the month he prepared this room? Hunted? Feasted? Taught, healed, listened to stories older than any of us know? Possibly. But I know each and every one of you has cowered in the dark? Just like our mothers' fathers' grandmothers as did their fathers' mother's grandfathers' did before them? We never stride towards anything more than being mere Rattata, hiding in the dark, our fears of the world the only thing stopping us from entering it. Not anymore. Do any of us actually _know_ what we are afraid of? I do not think we do! Are we truly knowing Pokemon?! What, in our superior knowledge over the wilds that prance about freely outside has us sealing ourselves in these caves!?

"So let us go! Let us go out from these caverns and explore this world! Let us go and do something that will show we are worthy of such respect from the spirits! Let us go and learn what we can never fathom! And then look to what we can never know and then ask _why_! And if we are indeed to fear, we shall be able to look it straight in the eye and show none of it and persevere!

"But it all starts with us, right here, right now. We can create a new greatness, where we need not fear a Tropius, but can live with them in harmony and the respect that this one had given to us unconditionally in death, even going so far as to guarding over our Soul. But we cannot do it here!

"I say to you all of this. But now I ask you! I ask every single one of you—from the oldest Marowak, to the hatchlings who still wear their eggshells! Who shall go?!"

"We will!" cried the entire Tribe in one voice.

"And who shall lead us!"

"Cyril!"

And Fiazel nodded to them and turned to Cyril, putting a hand on his brother's heart. "Cyril, I have announced to the tribe what you plan and they accept. They desire you as their new leader. And now I ask you this, will you accept and lead us in this effort? Will you lead our people to a new greatness, beyond anything anyone of us can imagine now?"

Cyril put his hand over Faizel's heart, "With the strength of the Spirits, the strength of the Tribe, and with the strength of our Soul, I will."

* * *

"But, Knowing Teller, we still live in the Caverns. I heard there's a town outside the Reservation—that it's like the Caverns, except outside. Why can't we live in a town?"

The amber eyes behind the Froslass skull dimmed, the Marowak slowly fading away and the words echoing fainter and fainter. "…child…. I will tell you that story when you return from your Trials. But, why ask for this story now?"

"Because…" Cubone said blearily, blinking awake. The fire had died down considerably, now mostly hot embers but glowing still. The rain poured down outside and the usual trickle leaked through the ceiling.

She looked back down to the little white leaf in her hand. Such a detailed painting of two little Oshawotts by what must be the greatest Seer in the world… to be taken everywhere and held at heart….

And then given to her in thanks.

Carefully, she put the leaf back into the scalchop and gingerly pressed it closed. It sealed itself with a snap.

She looked over to Joshua. He had slid down completely to the floor, sleeping soundly on his side, facing her. His tail half-curled around him and facing the fire with a pained expression on his face. He gripped the strap of his rutsack harshly, arms crossed over his chest.

He trembled slightly, and as she watched, he flinched, entire body seizing in a moment of panic.

Cubone watched him, unsure of what to do. Several times, she made to get up, but stopped before she moved. Biting her lip, she looked away, looking to the corridor that led to her Spirit Chamber where her Shinx lay.

She shifted uneasily, glancing one last time to Joshua. He had stopped shaking, but his face was still pained. He shifted again, rolling away from her.

Looking down, she resettled herself against the wall, flicking the Buizel tails onto her front for a little extra warmth. Holding the scalchop to her heart, she drifted back to sleep.

Slowly, she dreamed of a little Oshawott running through a forest, searching for his Soul. And she could do nothing to help, only listen to his cries as he ran towards almost certain death.

* * *

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it too.**


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